Ashes to Ashes
by Schizzar
Summary: Arthur is sick of the dream-sharing. He's seen the results, and it's nothing like the justice he imagined when Dom first brought him on. He's going to get a new beginning. Bane/John, Eames/Arthur
1. Chapter 1

**This fic has been stewing in my head for quite sometime since I saw the Dark Knight. I hope I don't disappoint. The prelude is short, but the other chapters should be a decent length. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are loved. I don't own the Dark Knight or Inception. **

"Are you sure about this Arthur?"

Arthur stared at Dom, then the PASIV in his hands. "Yeah...yeah I'm sure."

Dom nodded. "Okay. Am...am I going to see you again?"

Arthur swallowed thickly, heart in his throat. Dom had been his partner in crime for so long, they had done _everything_ together from day one with the dream-sharing. They were going to help change the world, help the people who had nothing. Bring them up from the bottom. Bring them up the way Dom had brought him up. The way Dom had offered him escape from his life on the streets.

"No." The word was quiet, less than a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"It's your choice," Dom said. "And I understand completely." He glanced behind him, out into the backyard where his children were playing, throwing fistfuls of grass at each other. "This business...it's not meant for people who have something to live for."

Arthur began to back down the hallway, eyes focused on Dom's face. "Thank you. For everything."

Dom gave him a smile, setting the PASIV on the counter. "I'll give it to someone who will use it wisely. I promise."

Arthur shook his head slowly. "There's no one in the world that can use it wisely, Dom. You know that. Destroy it. One less PASIV out in the world, the better. I...good bye."

Dom nodded. "Goodbye, Arthur."

Arthur turned around, opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. "That's not my name. Not anymore."

The door slammed shut behind him.

-.-

"I need you to do something for me," Arthur said, leaning against the payphone stand.

"A favor?"

"Just one. You said you owed us all one, right?" Arthur had never used Saito's favor, clinging to it just in case. Just in case he got in a tight spot he couldn't work himself out of. It had never happened before, but he knew he could only go so long before he had to disappear. Saito...he could do that.

"True. What do you need?"

"I need a new occupation, new house, new city. I want to work as a cop," Arthur said.

Saito chuckled. "A cop? Surely, one such as yourself is meant for greater."

"Gotta throw in the towel sometime, right? I don't know any cops, tried not to work with them often. I need an in."

"You are wasting your favor on something so small? So trivial? You are the Point Man are you not? Surely you could get yourself a job there just fine," Saito asked.

"I'm not going to tell you why, Saito, just tell me if you can do it or not," Arthur hissed into the phone, fist clenching tight. "I need an escape. And I need for you to never, ever, tell anyone what became of me."

"I am good at keeping secrets, you know this. My mind is trained now, by you and Dom. No one will know. But I'll need a name to tell my contacts. What will you be going by?"

"I don't know yet," Arthur said. "I'll call you, three hours from now. I'll have a name then, and the appropriate history to back me up. All your contact has to do is pretend to know who I am, be a reference, get me the job. I don't care where at. Easy enough."

"I still do not see why you would waste your favor on something so insignificant, but if you insist. I will expect a call in three hours. If I do not receive it, I will do nothing and you will never be able to redeem the favor."

"I understand. Three hours."

-.-

Hacking into the databases of the American government was easy for someone like Arthur. It was what he spent his whole life doing after all, and hacking in and changing his name and history, wiping his criminal record...it was all painfully easy.

He tried to shove thoughts of the reality of what he was doing out of his mind. He was starting over. Erasing everything. It would be gone in the span of a few minutes. All he had was a few more keystrokes and Arthur Tidwell never existed. Nor any of his aliases.

Swallowing one last time, he hit the final keystroke. It was gone. He pushed away from his desk, sliding his chair across the wood floor of his apartment to sit before the paper shredder. He only had a few more things; credit cards, birth certificates. The final step.

With a delicate hand, he opened the folder containing all the documents. Credit cards first. They were gone in less than a second, the blades grinding them to dust. One by one, seven birth certificates followed suit. All that was left was the one that held his true name. The true person behind all the masks he had ever worn.

He ran his fingers over the name, tracing the ink. Taking a deep breath, he placed it into the shredder, watching as it slid away from him. Later he would burn the contents so that they were gone completely, no chance of being discovered, but for now, he had to construct a new identity.

Back to the computer. Constructing a new identity had never been hard. Despite what Eames believed, Arthur was creative enough to make a new identity for himself. He knew just the perfect balance between plausible and improbably. He wasn't the stick in the mud that Eames believed he was.

But this was a remaking of everything he had ever created. Bits and pieces taken from all the identities, all the masks he had donned over the years. Copied and pasted into the patchwork life of an orphan. A boy who's parents had died, one by car, the other by gun. A boy who had grown up wearing the mask of a smile.

Bits of the truth of his life before dream-sharing. Bits of half truths and lies from the life after. All he needed now was a name. Sighing, he mentally went through all the names of his false identities. Jacob. Caleb. Matt. John. Tom. Joseph. Blake. Robin. He picked three, typed them in.

First, Middle, Last.

Robin, John, Blake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Another short chapter. They'll continue to get longer, hopefully. But they'll take longer to write too haha. Enjoy, reviews are loved.**

"Robin? Isn't that a girl's name?"

Arthur glared at the man looking over his resume, Chief Foley. He was Saito's contact, and why the man had contacts with such a stiff, boring looking man was entirely beyond him. He didn't spare it another thought though, shoving it to the back of his mind. An even better question was why Saito's contact lived in Gotham, the city he had grown up in.

"I'll go by my middle name, thanks," Arthur said. Perhaps it would spare him from being mocked further. "So, I'm in, yeah?"

"Why you'd want to get in with the Gotham police is beyond me, kid, but yeah. Saito speaks highly of your abilities," Foley said, brushing a hair that had escaped the gel neatly back in place. "You're in. You'll get bored though."

"I thought Gotham was one of the most dangerous cities in the States," Arthur...John said.

Foley shrugged. "It was, but it's peace-time now. Though you can't tell Commissioner Gordon that without him giving you the stink eye. Now that the Batman is gone, everything's a lot better."

"Oh, I see," John said. "I grew up in Gotham actually. I left when I was 17 though."

"That's great, and I'm not interested," Foley said. "Ross, get in here."

John gave a frustrated sigh, but quickly put on a smile when another officer emerged from the hallway behind the desk. His black hair was clipped short, and the smile he offered John in return was warm, actually reaching his almond shaped eyes.

"Hey, guess you're my new partner, huh?" He held his hand out to shake.

John took it. "I guess so."

"Alright, Ross. He doesn't need any training, transferred here from San Francisco. Just show him where to find everything and get out on patrol," Foley ordered, waving his hand dismissively at them.

John didn't bat an eye at the information. Saito had already told him he would be drafting up his resume for him, and while he had checked it over before handing it over to Foley, he was unsure if Foley actually believed what he was reading. Was willing to repeat the information as fact.

"Sure thing, boss," Ross said, turning and heading back down a separate hallway. "So, what brings you to Gotham, Robin?"

"John is fine," John said as he followed after him. "And I needed a change of pace, I suppose."

"Change of pace is right," Ross said, leading him into the break room. "Ever since the Dent Act went into place, the streets are pretty much empty of crime." He shot a grin over his shoulder and then pointed to a large white board on the far end of the room. "Check that every day. It'll give you your schedule for the week. Locker rooms are downstairs, impossible to miss. Ready to go on patrol?"

"Ready as ever," John said, glancing over the uniform he had been provided with. The gun was next to useless compared to what he was used to. He still had his semi-automatic at home, stowed under a floorboard, and he wished he could at least have his own handgun. The weight of the one provided just didn't feel the same. "So is Foley always such a stick in the mud?"

The words felt odd in his mouth, and for a moment, he could almost hear Eames teasing him to loosen up. He wrenched himself away from the memories. That wasn't his life, not anymore.

"Yeah pretty much," Ross said. "Unless you mention the Batman. Then he's practically foaming at the mouth."

"How long has Batman been gone?" John asked as Ross unlocked the patrol car and slid in on the driver's side. He took the passenger seat.

"Eight years. He killed Harvey Dent and vanished," Ross said with a shrug. "It's Foley's life goal to take him out or something."

"He killed someone?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. It was hard to believe. He didn't remember much of his childhood, but the Batman had always been someone he admired.

"That's what the Commissioner said," Ross said, pulling out of the parking lot and into the busy streets. "It was all a mess, but either way, with Dent gone...it's a bit sad really. The Dent Act did a lot to clean up the streets, but we can't even thank him."

John frowned, fingers trailing over the handle of his gun. "Doesn't really seem like something he'd do. He never killed before."

Ross shot him a look. "How do you know so much about the guy?"

John offered a smile. "Grew up here. Left when I was 17 but decided it was time to come back, do what I could." _Or Saito knew where I used to live and decided to put me back. This is too much to just be coincidence._

Lies passed so easily out of his mouth, it made his stomach churn. How could he give up his old life and start back in Gotham? How could he forget Arthur's memories? Was he Arthur or John? Or was he the boy who had left all those years ago? He couldn't remember anymore.

"Man, must of been rough," Ross said. "I got a job here about ten years ago, back when crime was still soaring. Can't imagine have growing up in that filth." He shot John a glance and a smile. "No offense of course."

"No sense in lying, right?" He looked out the window. Nothing felt right. He felt like he was sliding on another mask even though he was back home. But it was a mask he was determined to wear the rest of his life. Perhaps, after a long enough time, he would _become_ Robin John Blake, just as he had become Arthur.

"Lies only get people hurt, man," Ross said.

John nodded his agreement, but said no more.

-.-

Arthur walked into his apartment, letting the mask of John Blake slide away as he did so. The mild smile he had been wearing all day fell flat and he shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up neatly in the closet. His clothes were thrown in the hamper at the entrance to his bedroom and he slipped into his old wardrobe, slacks and a button down shirt.

It was unsettling how comfortable the crisp clothes made him feel, and he rubbed his eyes for a moment as he sat down at his desk. He wish he had someone to talk to, but all the contacts he had cultivated over the years...he couldn't risk talking to them now, clinging to them. If he did that, he would never become John Blake.

Before, sliding masks had been easy. An escape from unpleasant memories, a chance to become stronger. But over the years, he had fallen into being Arthur, he had truly _become_ the Point Man. He couldn't get rid of Arthur's desire for neatness, his serious nature, his cautious behavior that bordered on paranoia.

His ability to be passionate and loving when someone finally got him to open up. His desire and thirst for knowledge. His desire for adrenaline, his desire to fight and protect, to use the heavy hand of justice to bring the bad people to their knees through their dreams. His hatred of seeing the undeserving punished.

A strangled noise escaped his throat, hands fisting in his hair. "Who _am _I?"

-.-

The next few weeks, John made sure to keep his head down. He did his work, smiled and played nice with his coworkers, but held them all at an arms length and didn't do anything that would be deemed even slightly abnormal. He showed up for work right on time, left immediately after.

Most times, people forgot his name he was so normal and plain. Arthur was comfortable with this, always waiting for the moment when he would have to slide back into the shadows and take on a new identity. John just wanted to have a friend for once.

It was hard trying to get rid of Arthur's traits. Over the years, he had become incapable of shaking the feeling that he would be leaving. He had never settled down, and now that he was, it made trying to actually connect with people all the more difficult. He had begun to accept that he was Arthur and John was the mask. He was beginning to accept that he would never be John, that John would always be the face he wore in public.

That he could never have someone see him as anything but John.

-.-

_Eames pushed Arthur's hair back, large fingers toying with a stray piece before tucking that back as well. "Even after a bout of sex, your hair is still in fairly good shape. How do you manage that love?"_

_"Hm, practice," Arthur said, letting a rare smirk creep past his lips._

_"Practice, darling? Are you implying you've done this a lot?" Eames' tone was teasing as he slid a hand down Arthur's lower back, stroking over his well-used hole for a moment._

_Arthur's hips jerked forward, but his groan was one of exhaustion. "Eames, we just got off a job, I can only do so much for you."_

_"Oh, I know, love. Just teasing," Eames murmured, hand going back to stroking lazy touches up and down his back. "Am I the only one?"_

_Arthur swallowed thickly, tucking his face into Eames' neck as their legs twined together. "Yeah. Just you."_

-.-

"You hear the latest rumor?" Ross asked, tossing him the car keys.

"No," John said. "I try to avoid gossiping like a school girl, Ross, you know that." He gave his partner a wide grin as he slid into the driver's seat. "So what's up?"

Ross rolled his eyes. "Thought you didn't gossip, John."

"You made me curious, that's all," John said.

"Word is someone sighted Bane," Ross said. "He's supposed to be some mercenary from South America with superhuman strength. All just rumors now but everyone's getting excited, saying we might actually get to do something besides catching petty pick pockets."

"We have a report of a dead young man at the exit of the sewer outflow on 48th Street, we need someone to check the situation-"

Ross snatched up the radio. "This is patrol car #335, we're on the street, we'll check it out now."

John pulled the car over and took the keys out of the ignition. "You always this eager to check out a dead body or is this a special occasion?"

"Hey, this might be the first interesting thing that's happened in Gotham in years, I want to be the first one on it," Ross said with a shrug.

They jogged across the sidewalk, both stepping without hesitation into the water and then climbing up onto the cement on the other side and approaching the crowd that had gathered.

"Alright, clear out, nothing to see," John said, raising his voice and shooing the crowd off. "Did someone call an ambulance?"

"I did," a woman said, lingering as the rest of the crowd disbursed. "I recognized the boy from the orphanage I volunteer at." She glanced to the side, staring down at the body for a moment before looking back up. "Should I...?"

"No ma'am, I'll deliver the news," John said as Ross looked the body over for wounds. "Would you mind staying with my partner here and answering any questions?"

The ambulance screeched to a halt at the closest curb, the EMTs hurrying over.

"Yes, that's fine," she said with a short nod, wiping away a few stray tears that began to escape her eyes.

"It's going to be alright ma'am, we'll figure out what happened," John said firmly, then turned as Ross came to stand beside him. "Well?"

"They just proclaimed him dead. Won't know how for sure until they do an autopsy," Ross said, the excitement from his eyes gone.

"I'm...going to go deliver the news, if that's alright," John said, backing away. "What orphanage ma'am?"

"The Wayne Foundation's Home for Boys," she said.

John swallowed thickly and gave a short nod. "Alright, thanks." He jogged back to the car after promising to swing by and pick Ross back up when he was done. He knew the home all too well. It was the one he had grown up in. He wondered, briefly, if the man who ran it was still there, if he would recognize him.

-.-

Oddly enough, Father Reilly didn't recognize him at all, and when he requested to tell the kid's only family, his little brother, by himself, he received an odd look.

"Sorry, I just...know what it's like and was hoping I could help," John said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Reilly's eyes narrowed, then widened a bit. "Blake! It is you!"

John started back, surprised. "I...yes." Blake had been his last name in his life before dream-sharing too. "I changed my name though. When I left."

"I didn't recognize you until you did that stupid smile of yours with that sheepish look," Reilly said, his hardened expression softening with a smile. "He's out on the roof with the others. Name's Mark."

John ducked his head in a nod. "Thank you, Father."

Reilly flapped a hand at him. "Reilly is fine, Blake, really. What do you go by now then?"

"John," he said. "Look, I'll just go talk to Mark and be on my way."

"Can't stay and chat? It's been a long time, I was hoping we could catch up after all these years," Reilly said.

"I...maybe later," John said, unable to outright refuse the man who had basically raised him. "I've been busy. I...can call you sometime though?"

"Swing by before you leave, I'll leave you my personal number," Reilly said with a smile.

John gave a quick nod and left the man's office, heading for the staircase that would lead up to the roof. He struggled to get his heartbeat back under control, a weird rush of adrenaline pumping through him. So far, he hadn't run into anyone that had recognized him from his childhood, and now that he had been, it felt a bit like his cover had been blown even though he had already cultivated the idea that he had grown up here among his co-workers. Part of him wanted to run away, and he had to fight the urge to do just that, forcing himself to walk up the stairs.

"Hey, can you show me who Mark is?" John asked, tapping the shoulder of the first boy he saw when he got up to the roof.

"Uh yeah, over there," the boy said, tossing the basketball in his hands back to another kid, then pointing to a younger boy sitting at the top of the bleachers.

John gave a short nod. "Thanks." He moved across the roof, finding the side-glances from the kids like tiny needles prickling over his skin. As John, he mostly faded into the background, but here on the roof, surrounded by kids that saw his uniform as a symbol to hate or love, he was the center of attention.

Biting his lip, he climbed the bleachers and sat down next to Mark, a dark skinned boy with shaggy black hair, drawing idly with a piece of chalk without looking at him.

"He's dead, yeah?" Mark asked, the sound of his chalk scratching against the metal never pausing.

"Your brother? Yeah," John said. "You know something about it?"

"He worked in the sewers once he grew too old to stay here," Mark said with a shrug. "Boys go there often, end up disappearing. I figured one day he wouldn't come back."

"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?" John asked.

"Of course not," Mark said, his tone saying he thought the older was stupid. "But I'm not going to start crying on you or something, it's alright. Can't be seen crying on a cop here. It's embarrassing."

"Yeah, I know that," John said, nudging him with his elbow. "I grew up here too. Left when I aged out. Left the whole city."

"My brother couldn't do that," Mark said with a shake of his head. "He had to support me."

"Support you by hanging out in the sewers all day?" John asked.

"No, there's work down there." The words were said with the same contempt as before, as if he couldn't believe someone so stupid was a cop.

"What kind of work?" He peered over the younger's shoulder, surprised to see him drawing the Batman symbol over and over again in neat little rows.

"I don't know, didn't say," Mark said. "Just said we'd be safe."

"Thought the Batman was gone," John said, changing the subject before the young boy shut him out completely. He could tell the younger was getting fed up with the questions about his brother.

"Probably. Hope he comes back," Mark said with another shrug. "Never saw what he did, my brother told me. Told me to believe in the Batman."

"After he killed that Dent guy too?"

Mark sighed, getting to his feet and dropping the chalk on the pavement through the slots of the bleachers. "The Dent Act locked up a lot of our friends for no reason. Who gives a fuck about Dent."

John was unable to say anymore as the kid made his way down the bleachers, wiping his chalk caked hands on his blue jeans as he went. Sighing, he leaned back against the top most bleacher. Something about this didn't feel right. None of it felt right. This wasn't the Gotham he once knew. Something had changed, and he wasn't sure if it was for the better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to Chapter 3 guys. This one's a bit longer finally. It might seem like we're moving a bit fast, but that's because I have a lot of things planned :D I hope you all like the third chapter, thanks for the feedback, reviews are loved. **

John hesitated at the top of the stairs, hand dancing along the handle that would lead out to the roof of the police building. Ross had told him that Commissioner Gordon could be found there at the end of the day, said it was a habit he had gotten into when he was younger and had never changed.

He knew if he was going to get any honest information about the Batman it would be from the Commissioner. All the other cops seemed to be too relaxed, not caring about the odd coincidences that seemed to pop up, or the occasional missing boy turning up at one of the outflows of the sewers. For all they clamored about wanting more excitement, then didn't seem too interested when a case was practically staring them in the face.

Finally, he shoved the door open and strode across the roof, around the shattered light, the fragmented bat symbol lying at the center. He paused for a moment to glance at it before continuing to where the Commissioner stood, looking out at the skyline from his perch.

"Commissioner Gordon, could I have a word?" he asked.

The Commissioner was older than most of the other cops around, and when he turned and looked at him, John almost started back. There was something in his eyes, that caution, that paranoia, that was the same look he saw whenever he looked in the mirror.

"I've got time. You're the new cop right, transferred from San Francisco?" The Commissioner moved closer, folding his arms over his chest as he gave a small smile and a nod.

"Ah, yes, sir, John Blake," John said, holding his hand out to shake.

The Commissioner shook it and then replaced his arms where they had been before. "So how is it that I can help you, Mr. Blake?"

"John's fine," John said with a small smile. "I uh...just wanted to ask a few questions, about the Batman."

The somewhat friendly expression on the older's face became closed off, and he glanced aside, over at the shattered light. "I don't think I'm the person you want to be asking, son."

"I think you're exactly the person I want to be asking, actually." The words were out of his mouth before he could say them, and his jaw clenched it. The voice was the one he used when trying to sway someone onto a job, not the type of voice John Blake would use. Not the type of voice a person trying to fade into the background would use.

The Commissioner just looked amused though, his expression changing once more. "Oh? The rumors didn't chase you off?"

John smiled, realizing he hadn't messed anything up. "No, sir, they drove me to talk to you if I'm being completely honest. See I grew up in Gotham and I...before I left, Batman was my hero."

"People hear you say that, you'll get fired," the Commissioner said, expression wary despite his smile. "So I guess you want to know what happened to him? Thought I would know?" The Commissioner turned away from him, taking a few steps closer to the old light and running his gloved hand along the edge.

"Something like that," John said. He moved to stand beside the older. "More like I find it hard to believe he murdered someone in cold blood. He's not the type."

"You know an awful lot about the Batman, don't you son?" The words, said with any other tone, would have had _Arthur_ reaching for his gun and pointing it at the potential threat. But the Commissioner's voice was resigned, not threatening. So John relaxed, his own gloved hands coming up to wrap around the border of the light, leaning against the metal.

"I guess you could say that. Just observed him a lot. He seemed impressive to an orphaned boy," John said. "Fighting crime without ever really hurting anyone. What changed? You were there that night, weren't you?"

"Yes I was. And my statement can be found in any article online," the Commissioner said.

"But those are lies, aren't they?" John was fishing in the dark, but he had extracted information enough in his life, or Arthur had, to be able to read the signs. Like the tightening of the Commissioner's fists, the small sigh before he spoke.

"You're accusing me of a great many things, John," the Commissioner said. "Read the articles. That's all I have to say about that night."

"Uh-huh," Arthur said. "So you think Batman is a murdering mad-man who would kill anyone and we're better off without him?"

The Commissioner gave a loud sigh and pushed away from the light. "Is that all, Officer Blake?"

"Yeah, that's it," John said. He waited until the Commissioner's hand was on the door handle then called out. "So what about the dead boys that keep washing up at the outflows? Anyone ever going to look into that?"

"Good night, Officer Blake," the Commissioner said firmly.

John stared down into the pit of the light, clenching his fists tight as the door slammed shut behind him. Everyone was asleep. Maybe he was wrong, thinking the Commissioner would bother to help him. Or perhaps he wasn't used to anyone taking him seriously, actually acknowledging that some of the things that were happening couldn't be written off as coincidences.

He had work to do. Or rather, Arthur had work to do.

-.-

Arthur started with what he knew. Batman supposedly killed Harvey Dent in cold blood, and he couldn't find a single report in the mainstream media saying otherwise. The alternative news sites weren't much better, preaching conspiracy theories that held no real merit. Then he started in on Commissioner Gordon.

For a long time, the Commissioner had been revered as a man of great strength and integrity, at least when he looked at articles from before Harvey Dent's death. After that, if there was any story, it was an editorial piece, someone questioning why such an old paranoid cop was kept on as the Commissioner. The man no longer held any real merit, even though he still gave public speeches.

And then there was Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Arthur wasn't dumb. When he was younger, he had recognized the look in Bruce Wayne's eyes for the one he wore every day as a child growing up in a boy's orphanage. The mask. The anger barely concealed by a wall made of apathy and the occasional cheap smile. Even as a child, it had not taken him long to connect the dots. No one had the resources to be Batman, no one but Bruce Wayne and a few other rich folk, rich folk who didn't give a damn about crime. Didn't give a damn about caring for the weak, the defenseless.

So after Commissioner Gordon, he looked to see what happened to Bruce Wayne. The company had lost a fair amount of money to the Save the World Foundation, and it was said that Bruce Wayne hadn't been seen in 8 years. Hadn't been seen since the day Harvey Dent died. And no one batted an eye.

If anything, it only confirmed Arthur's already fairly firm belief that Bruce Wayne was Batman. Whether or not he had actually killed Dent was another matter entirely.

For a brief moment, he wished he hadn't given the PASIV to Dom to destroy. He wanted to knock the Commissioner out and enter his dreams, pull out everything he knew about what had really happened the night Harvey Dent had died, figure out why no one took him seriously anymore. Figure out why no one was bothered by the bodies showing up at the sewage outflows.

Perhaps there was one person. The chance of him actually getting Bruce Wayne to talk to him were slim, but he'd have to try.

-.-

John's fingers danced along the edge of his gun. Not his police-issued one, but his own. He wasn't technically on call, so he was allowed to carry his own gun, and he had a feeling that the security of having it on his hip would give him the strength to confront Bruce Wayne.

It had taken a bit to get past the butler, Alfred. Threat of a getting a warrant to search the building seemed to work though. So he sat in one of the many living rooms of the Wayne mansion, waiting for Bruce to walk through the door and have a chat with him. The man kept him waiting, and if he were to bet, he'd say it was on purpose. Make him stew in his own thoughts, break out in cold sweat.

But Arthur, and therefor John, was used to waiting. So when Bruce walked in John's fingers were already still and he was reclined on the couch as if he were the comfiest man in the world.

It wasn't an image he expected though. The Bruce Wayne he remembered was clean-shaven shoulders straight and head held high, hair slicked back, with a perfectly tailored suit. The one standing before him now leaned against a cane, the scruff of a beard and mustache on his face, hair in disarray and in nothing more than loose fitting jeans, a shirt, and bathrobe.

"So Mr. Wayne. Thinking of coming out of hiding any time soon?" John asked, slipping behind the mask of Arthur. Or was he discarding the mask of John? He didn't bother thinking about it any longer.

"Not even going to introduce yourself, isn't that rude?" Bruce didn't seem too concerned, easing himself down into the sofa opposite of Arthur's, a glass table between them.

"Officer John Blake, pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Wayne," Arthur said, not bothering to offer his hand to shake.

"Again?"

"Used to live in Gotham," Arthur said as Alfred walked in and set a bowl of assorted fruit in front of them.

Bruce reached to take a piece of pineapple, biting into it without sparing him a glance. "A lot of people live in Gotham, Officer."

"You visited the boy's home I grew up in. The Wayne Foundation's Home for Boys," Arthur clarified. "Either way, that's not important. I'm here to ask you why you're hiding." He grabbed a piece of fruit of his own, a piece of melon. He took a small bite and chewed, leaning forward on his knees and catching Bruce's eye. "Why you're hiding when it is apparent that no one suspects you of Harvey Dent's murder. You don't have to hide, Mr. Wayne. No one's looking at you."

The expression in Bruce's eyes was unreadable, but the next moment, Arthur found himself being tugged to his feet by the front of his uniform jacket. Bruce managed to lift him a few inches off the ground despite his bad leg, but Arthur just crooked an eyebrow at him.

"You're not helping your case, Mr. Wayne," he said. "Apparently you _do_ have something to hide."

"I wasn't anywhere near Harvey Dent that night," Bruce said, lowering Arthur slowly and then sitting once more on the sofa. "And I don't like being accused of murder."

"Maybe you weren't there, but Batman was," Arthur said, sitting down as well. "And as far as I'm concerned, those two are the same thing."

He popped the rest of the slice of melon in his mouth, chewing slowly while holding Bruce's gaze. Something dark was sliding around in the depths of the steely gaze, and Arthur figured the other man was considering whether or not to throw him out or try and get more information out of him.

"Look, to be honest, I'm not really interested in all of that," Arthur said, holding his hands up in defense. "I just don't see why Batman had to disappear after all that. Someone has to fight the crime the police can't stop, but then he vanished."

"He? I thought you were convinced that the Batman was me?" Bruce said, eyebrow crooking up.

"Oh, I am, but you seem uncomfortable with the notion so I didn't want to aggravate you further," Arthur said with a flat smile. "So. Do you know why Batman would stop fighting crime?"  
"No crime to fight. The Dent Act took care of that," Bruce said with a shrug. His eyes didn't agree with the nonchalance of the movement though.

"So why are the dead bodies of orphans showing up at the sewer outflows?" Arthur asked. "How come nearly every case I look at of orphans turning up dead is their body in a sewer outflow? And how come no one gives a damn?"

"Said you grew up in a boy's home didn't you?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," Arthur said.

"Then you no why no one cares, don't you?" Bruce asked. The question was rhetorical; who cared about a couple of dead kids with no family?

"Someone used to care though," Arthur said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "Someone those kids still look to for saving. Strangely, he vanished 8 years ago."

"Harvey Dent-"

"You know exactly who I'm talking about Mr. Wayne and it isn't Harvey Dent," Arthur said, still not turning to look at the man. "Why don't you try and do some good in the world?"

He didn't wait for a reply, and showed himself out of the house.

-.-

Arthur was trained to wake quickly, usually with no other warning beside some nearly 6th-sense instinct that would prod him awake and have him reaching for the gun under his pillow. Which is why when he woke, he had his gun trained on the dark shadow standing at the edge of his bed, an all too familiar cape, and the silhouette of as mask giving him all the information he needed.

"Batman. Good to see you out and about again," Arthur said, not moving from his relaxed position on the bed, gun trained at the man. He wasn't stupid. He knew the man could fight better than he could, but he also knew the Batman wouldn't kill him without real motivation, and perhaps not even then.

"Only to tie up loose ends," the man said, voice gruff.

"I suppose I'm the loose end, huh? You know you're not making a convincing argument for not being Bruce Wayne," Arthur said, easing himself out of bed. "Does this mean you're going to go out and fight crime? Or just kill someone in cold blood and vanish again?"

"It isn't cold blood if I'm trying to protect myself, isn't that right, Arthur Tidwell?"

"Oh mutually assured destruction, that your play?" Arthur asked. His heartbeat roared in his ears. How Bruce, or Batman, or whatever the hell he wanted to by, had managed to find his old name was beyond him. It meant that his skills either weren't as good as he thought, or he actually _wasn't_ the best Point Man out in the world. Both were too frightening to truly contemplate. "I sell you at, you do the same?

"Something like that. You're good at hiding your tracks, but not good enough. So, are you going to have a conversation without the gun in my face?"

"Says the guy who threatened he wanted to tie up loose ends," Arthur shot back. "Let's take this to the living room, shall we?"

"Never said you were the loose end," Batman said, easing himself back out of the room. "You made that assumption yourself."

"My assumptions tend to save my life, so I'm not too upset about being wrong," Arthur admitted as he followed after him. He clicked the light on when he got past the doorway, and seeing the Batman in full light was actually a bit comical and helped him relax. Sure he knew the man was still capable of snapping his neck but now that they were in a more relaxed setting, the chances of him dying had gone down. "Sit, I'll stand."

"Like feeling as if you're in control of the situation?"

"I am in control of the situation," Arthur said as Batman sat down. "Your life would be ruined if I exposed you. Mine? I'd just have to go into hiding again. I would prefer not to, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Going to take off the mask?"

"No."

"I know who you are," Arthur said.

"The make up without the mask doesn't look right," he said with a shrug.

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn't move the gun. "So what are we talking about?"

"How did you know who I was?"

"So you're admitting it now?" Arthur asked.

Dark eyes stared back up at him, obviously not about to reveal anything out loud. "How about you answer my question?"

Arthur eased back a bit more and then let the gun lower just slightly, both hands still gripping it tightly. "It's your eyes. The mask. I've seen it in the mirror enough times to recognize it in someone else. You're the only one who has the resources for all those fancy toys. If anyone bothered to really look, they would know the truth. Seems I'm the first one to actually bother though."

He got the barest twitch of a smile as a reward for his deduction. "What did you do before this, Arthur?"

"I won't use your name, you don't use mine," Arthur said, raising the gun.

"Fair is fair," Batman said, raising his hands in a placating manner. "So?"

"Didn't your search give you enough?" Arthur asked. "Shouldn't you already have all your answers?"

"I did say you were good, and I wasn't lying. I was able to retrieve one name and an old address in Kansas. That was it," Batman said with a shrug. "But you definitely aren't just a cop that transferred from San Francisco. You're too smart for that, and I don't know many cops that have trained themselves to wake up the moment someone walks into their room."

"For my own protection, I'm going to withhold that information," Arthur said. "I'm trying to start over, and I don't want to chance you ruining that for me. Too many people already know who I really am and where I came from."

"I can accept that," Batman said. "So why did you come to me?"

"Someone needs to find out what happened to those boys, and I can't do it. I don't have a high enough rank to launch my own investigation no matter how bad I want to," Arthur said. "Besides, I don't think you killed Harvey Dent, and after talking with the Commissioner, I'm even more convinced that you didn't. At least not in cold blood."

"The Commissioner told you about that night?"

"Not exactly. But he avoided a lot of questions. Wasn't hard to paint a picture," Arthur said. "So. I think you're innocent, and I think you do more good than harm. I think you could help prevent a real disaster if you start investigating those deaths now."

"Surely you have ways to sneak around and figure it out yourself," Batman said, getting to his feet and heading for the open window he had most likely used to enter.

"Yeah, but I don't have the toys you do," Arthur said. "Or the body armor."

"I could give them to you."

"Don't lie to me," Arthur said, the sneer apparent in his voice. "You wouldn't let another soul lay a finger on any of those weapons. It'd be too dangerous."

Batman gave him a short, barking laugh before leaping out the window and vanishing. Arthur waited a few moments then went and closed the window, letting the blinds fold shut over it. He was good at reading people. Not as good as Eames, but he was sure after both conversations that Batman was back out in the field, hopefully for good.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to stop his own investigations though. He moved back to his room, prying up the floorboard that hid his semi-automatic and a few other things from his old life. Perhaps it was proof that he hadn't moved on, was still clinging to the remnants of being a vigilante of dreams. He wasn't going to complain though.

He pulled out a suit and hung it on the door handle before pulling on the bullet-proof vest and strapping a knife to his calf. Then came the suit, the harmless looking briefcase that would hold the semi-automatic. Spare ammo was clipped to his belt, then hidden by the jacket of his suit. A quick trip to the bathroom and his hair was slicked back just as it had been before, back when he was still dream-sharing.

For a moment, he stared in the mirror. It was so easy, becoming Arthur, or rather erasing John. Arthur was safe, in control. John...wasn't. Adjusting the tie one more time, he headed for the streets.

-.-

_Arthur traced the lines on Eames' palm, head resting against the man's broad shoulder. A large, warm hand rested at his back, rubbing up and down the entirety of his spine, massaging lightly at his neck before stroking back down. _

_ "Where'd you learn to fight?" Arthur asked. _

_ The mission had been rough, and when it had all gone to hell, Arthur had been depending on the extractor to pull them out of it with the fighting skills he had bragged about. Turns out all the certificates he had certifying him as a black belt hadn't meant much in the field, because he froze up and got himself shot in the head two seconds in. It was Eames that had gotten he and Arthur to safety long enough to finish the extraction themselves. _

_ Arthur didn't remember much of the fight, only that Eames had managed to fight well even carrying an injured Point Man on his back. _

_ "Here and there," Eames said, voice rumbling in Arthur's ear. "Only one real teacher."_

_ He knew that tone of voice. It was the tone that said: stop asking questions and leave me alone. So he sighed and nestled closer, cradling the hand he had been holding in both of his own as he let the calming strokes on his back lure him into true sleep. _

_-.-_

He stashed the empty briefcase behind a dumpster as he slung the semi-automatic over his shoulder to rest against his back before kicking off the manhole cover nearby. A quick light shined into the depths revealed no immediate danger, and the next moment he was making his way down the ladder and onto the damp ground below.

His pant legs were tailored so they wouldn't drag on the wet cement. He had done enough leg work in real life to know that dragging pant legs not only looked bad but resulted in stains when he ended up going through less-than-clean areas. Eames had once teased him about wearing a suit even when crawling through sewers, but it was something he found comfort in, and could move well in despite what people thought. He wasn't going to change something that worked for him.

For now, he only had his handgun and flashlight out, carefully making his way through the dark tunnel. He slipped around a corner, not hesitating to yank the man he saw there forward by the muzzle of his gun, cracking the butt of his own gun against the man's head before kicking him in the back and sending him sprawling. The man didn't get up.

_Well, heavily armed men wandering around in the sewers right under the police's nose. They've fallen further than I originally thought. _

If the Gotham Police had investigated even _one_ of the orphans' deaths, they would've run into the armed men within minutes of searching the sewers. It was a bit sickening to think about. He was about to continue on his way when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

Arthur dropped the flashlight and then seized the man's larger hand in his own, twisting it up and curling under and away. Usually he would be able to run away then and escape his attacker, but before he could do so, he was seized by the back of his neck and thrown against the wall.

Dazed, he nearly dropped the gun before bringing it up to aim in front of him, into the inky black that revealed nothing; the man moved soundlessly. Then he cocked the gun up a bit, aiming for the ceiling and letting off one shot. His aim had been perfect, hitting one of the emergency sprinklers he knew ran along the ceiling of any sewer tunnel. Moments later, a shrill alarm began, dim work-lights flickering on throughout the tunnel.

Water began to gush out of the sprinklers as Arthur pushed himself up along the wall into a standing position. He blinked water out of his eyes to get a good look at his attacker. The man was large, corded muscle with battle armor on his back and front, but his arms bare. Thick metal straps curled around either side of his head, over his ears and wrapping around his jaw, another strap sliding over his bald head towards the front. A mask, a mask he had seen when researching the rumors Ross had told him about.

"Bane..."

The man spun and Arthur fired without thinking. He rolled to the side, through the grit and slime so he was back towards the ladder, but to his surprise, Bane had turned his back on him, paying the bleeding wound in his arm no mind as he headed down the tunnel away from him.

"I could shoot you in the head you know!" Arthur called after him.

"But you won't." The voice was deep, the mask muffling and distorting it as it echoed down back towards him. "This does not concern you, go home."

Arthur would have accepted the chance to escape and ran up the ladder, but John only stepped after him. "I'm a cop, of course this concerns me."

"Cops don't wander the sewers at the edge of dawn. Go. Home." Bane had halted, his form flickering in the light and the sputtering water that rained down upon them both. "This is the last time I will spare you."

"Why spare me at all? I'll just tell the Commissioner that I saw Bane in the sewers and then whatever it is your planning, it's done for," John said, reaching around and easing his semi-automatic into his hands, handgun sliding back in its holster. "Or I'll just kill you now."

"Would you kill a man when you do not know if he is innocent or not?" The question was not rhetorical. There was an odd, twisted sort of curiosity in the man's voice that made John's finger hesitate on the trigger.

He didn't have an answer, heart pounding in his chest. He had become a cop so that he wouldn't kill the wrong people, or let the wrong ones go free. Being a vigilante, being an extractor, it had gotten innocent people hurt, and sure, Bane was a criminal but Arthur had learned that he couldn't take anything at face value. And what Arthur learned, John had to live by. He was acting outside the boundaries of a cop, acting like an independent soldier. Acting like he had before he had gotten back to Gotham. If he killed Bane now, he would never know if the man was truly or evil or not.

"Go home." Bane began to walk away, his feet splashing through the puddles that had begun to gather on the floor.

John let out a deep sigh, shifted the semi-automatic back onto his back once more after clicking the safety back on. Once Bane was out of sight, he ran back to the ladder and scrambled up it. Sirens wailed in the distance, a sign that the alarms he had triggered earlier had been successful in attracting the attention of the police.

_Oh, so it is possible to make them actually do their job,_ John thought darkly, shoving the cover back in place and fishing out his briefcase from behind the dumpster.

He dismantled the gun quickly and latched the case closed, slipping back a different way than the way he had come. His mind was reeling from his first encounter with the man. It seemed all of Ross's rumors had been correct. After the first discussion they had about the man, he had looked him up out of curiosity. There wasn't much known about him, other than he was a mercenary from Southern America and that he had taken out a drug cartel in Mexico.

Perhaps it was that fact that had made him hesitate to shoot the man on sight. Arthur didn't like loose ends, but Arthur also didn't like shooting potentially innocent men. He hadn't proven that Bane had done anything wrong, just that he was lurking around in the sewers. Until it was proven that Bane was guilty of some crime, he wouldn't touch him. There had to be an investigation. Would anyone believe him though? Would anyone, even the Commissioner, listen to a word he had to say?

As he dragged himself back into his apartment, sore, wet, and exhausted, he couldn't help but feel more helpless than he had in a long time. What good could he do as Arthur or John as a cop? Cops were tied up by red tape. But he had seen what happened when you were a vigilante instead, both first hand and through Batman. Sometimes things got messed up and you ended up killing the wrong person for all the wrong reasons and you had nothing left to do but hide from your own guilt or from public outrage.

There had to be something he could do. He didn't want to report the deaths of any more orphans to their siblings, not again. Once was more than enough. With or without police help, with or without Batman, he was going to find out what was going on down in the sewers. And why Bane had spared him.**  
**

**A/N: Let me know if the switch between Arthur and John is too confusing. It is intentional, but not if it's TOO confusing. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry these chapters are coming so late. I've had a lot going on in life, between funerals, getting ready for college, and all that stuff. I'm doing my best though. I hope you all like the new chapter. Feedback, as always, is appreciated.**

"You know Saito told me you were coming here to get a new life, keep your head down. You aren't doing such a good job of that now."

John resisted the urge to storm out of the room, crushing his anger with an iron fist. The man's ability to deny everything John told him was infuriating. Foley was staring at him with a look mixed with disbelief and disgust, shaking his head. As Arthur, he never had to deal with such looks. He was undisputedly the best Point Man in the business, and when he said anything, people pretty much listened without argument. But as John, all he was able to achieve was disbelief and anger.

It was frustrating to say the least.

"You realize that there is a strong possibility the deaths of those orphans you've been ignoring could be connected, right? And that if you just look in the sewers and check to-"

"Okay, how about you let me do my job and you can go back to being that nobody you paid so much money to be, hm? That sounds like a good idea."

"I didn't pay to be a nobody, I paid to actually stop crime from happening," John bit out.

"You're jumping at shadows," Foley said. "Now get out of my office before you really piss me off with this."

John grit his teeth together and got to his feet. "Yes, sir." He didn't wait for Foley's response, instead moving to leave the room before he said something else he would regret.

"And one more thing," Foley said as he opened the door. "You aren't allowed to use guns that aren't issued by the police department. I'm going to have to ask you turn that over."

John closed his eyes and counted to ten and back down slowly. "Sorry, I'll be taking it home. I must have grabbed the wrong gun this morning."

"Did I stutter? You need to turn it over now. You'll get it back once I check to make sure it's legal for you to have that," Foley said.

Arthur slammed the door shut and turned around, approaching Foley's desk and standing above it. "You know full well I can't provide you with the paperwork necessary to prove that. You are not taking this gun from me. Is that clear?"

"I think it's pretty damn clear that I could fire you if you don't hand over that gun right now," Foley said. "Saito said I had to hire you. He didn't say I had to _keep_ you hired."

"Why do you want to fire me so bad?" Arthur asked, hand closing around the butt of the gun as he drew it from the holster. "You worried I'm poking holes where I shouldn't be? Is that it?"

"You're reading into this too much. I just want you to know your place," Foley said. "I am your superior and you will do as I ask."

"So you're going to take my gun and fire me then? Because you know I don't have paperwork for it," Arthur said. "How about this? I keep my gun, and then I don't rewrite your past and plant evidence of you accepting bribes and report it to the higher ups."

He kept his voice and gaze level even as he set his gun down on the desk. It was still in range. He could take it back if he wanted, but Foley didn't seem as interested in the gun as he had been.

"You can't do that," Foley said.

"I've erased myself from history nine different times Chief. Try me," Arthur said. "So. Do we have an agreement?"

"An agreement of what?" Foley demanded as Arthur took his gun back.

"You let me keep this job. No matter what. And I won't get you fired," Arthur said. "This was never about the gun. You just want me gone. Why, I don't know, and frankly I don't care. But you do your job, I'll do mine, and everyone's happy."

"I can agree to that. As long as you don't keep trying to go over my head of course," Foley said. "One toe out of line, and you're gone, blackmail or not."

"Good enough," Arthur said. "But when your city starts to explode because you were too scared to actually do your job, don't come asking me for help."

"This is your city too," Foley called after him as he left the room.

Arthur slammed the door shut in response.

-.-

After his shift, John headed to see the Commissioner. Sure, the conversation from the other night hadn't gone well, but if anyone was likely to listen to him, he had a feeling it was going to be the Commissioner. He didn't want to approach Bruce just yet. He'd let the man figure out what he could on his own, and if he wanted John's help...then he'd be more than willing.

His shift ended around ten that night, and he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to catch the Commissioner. But when he made his way up to the roof, the man was reclined in a lawn chair, going over some files with a flashlight. The skyline of Gotham was lit up, the sounds of the cars, thumping bass from the clubs, and the people beginning their night echoing all around them.

"Commissioner Gordon, a word?" he asked, stepping closer.

"You here to stick your nose in places it doesn't belong, Officer Blake?" the Commissioner asked, but when he looked he had a smile on his face.

"I'm sorry," John said, ducking his head. "I guess I've been acting a little out of my jurisdiction, but I was curious. I went and checked the sewers."

"Ah yes, Foley mentioned that," the Commissioner said, turning a page on one of his files. "Said you've been rambling about conspiracy theories. Something about men in the sewer."

"The police showed up there last night, didn't they?" John asked. "They found the guy down there."

The Commissioner raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know all of this?"

"Foley didn't tell you?"

The Commissioner shook his head, laughing a little. "I take it you decided to take a little trip down to the sewers yourself last night? Set off the fire alarms down there to get their attention in hopes that they'd launch an investigation themselves."

John swallowed thickly. "Something like that, yeah."

He was surprised when the older man began to laugh loudly, leaning back in his chair as he folded his files shut. "You know, I like you. You remind me of myself when I was younger actually."

"You know last time we talked, I thought you wanted to punch me," John said with a small smile. "How is it that your opinion of me changed so quickly?"

"You're smart," the Commissioner said, getting to his feet. "You're connecting dots the way I do. Unfortunately, people don't see the same things we do. It's why I'm a Commissioner, not a Chief. It's why I work as a detective."

John glanced away. "Trying to say I'd be a good detective, Commissioner?"

The Commissioner smiled. "Something like that. Regardless, as I'm sure you have noticed, the Chief does not like listening to logic." He stopped in front of John, still smiling. "I'm considered to be the paranoid Commissioner, and I think they only keep me around to humor me. You are probably well on your way to looking insane. I suggest you back off."

"Sir, you're not making much sense. You praise me for my work and then tell me to back off?" John raised an eyebrow.

The smile turned into a grin. "You don't think I got into my position by being a revolutionary did you? No, I had to play good cop, keep my head bowed, and do what I was told. Eventually you rise through the ranks, people start noticing you. Then you get promoted into a position where you can do something."

"Why would I have to do that when I have you?" John asked. "Couldn't you just call for the investigation?"

The Commissioner shrugged, patting his shoulder as he walked by. "I could. But even if they were to call an investigation, no one would take it seriously and we would find nothing. They might listen to you though, if you play your cards right."

"Sir?" John watched as the Commissioner walked away from him, not quite sure what to say.

"It'll take awhile, gaining Foley's trust. Prove yourself to be right enough times and he'll take note," the Commissioner said. He opened the door and then leaned against the doorframe. "You'll get your investigation, Officer Blake. But you're going to have to do it on your own."

"Does this mean you believe me? Even after all I...accused you of?"

"Maybe not all your accusations were off, Officer," the Commissioner said. "But I believe you have some boys you should be helping?"

"Commissioner, if you want me to help those boys...I don't have the time to rise through the ranks," John said. "Every day, more and more of those kids are going to go down there looking for a way to survive once they age out. I don't have time to just sit around and wait for Foley to promote me."

"Then I think you should see what you can do about keeping them off the streets until you get promoted," the Commissioner said with a smile.

Before John could get in another word, he was gone, leaving the younger to mull over his words. Such a complete 180 from the Commissioner was disorienting to say the least. It certainly revealed a side to the man that John hadn't considered before.

The side that knew he wasn't taken seriously. That knew he was the Commissioner as a figurehead, not as a man with any real power. No one with any sense had power in their hands, but if Arthur was smart, he could move John into a position of power and maybe accomplish something. But it went against everything Arthur wanted.

He was the master of putting himself in whatever situation he desired. It came with having to disappear so often. But he didn't _want_ John to become a man known for his abilities to drag hidden crime out into the light. The possibility of too much publicity could risk everything Saito had given him. If his face showed up in the papers even once and his enemies saw it, his cover would be blown. So if he kept his head down, become a nobody like he wanted, he could continue doing a little bit of good when possible.

Groaning softly to himself, he leaned up against the shattered bat-signal light. He had come to Gotham to help people, help those that couldn't help himself. That's why he had gone along with Dom, and when he had ended up helping the wrong people instead...he knew he had to pick a different route. He couldn't work as a vigilante. He would have to do things the right way, the official way. He would have to prove to Foley that he was a good cop, and maybe even get promoted.

Then he could do the good he wanted, without breaking the law. The night in the sewers with Bane proved that trying to go about it by himself wasn't going to get him anywhere but a body bag. He'd need the firepower the police could offer him. Getting into power though...

That would take time. He needed to get the aged out boys off the street so they wouldn't go looking for work down in the sewers. Then he could worry about getting promoted.

-.-

It didn't take much research to figure out that the money that used to go to the orphanages to keep boys on for longer had dried up. Wayne Enterprises had suffered huge losses when Bruce Wayne had vanished from public appearance, and the funds that had paid for the orphanages had vanished with him. A little further exploration showed that Bruce Wayne had appeared at some fancy gala the same night Arthur had explored the sewers and profits were beginning to soar once more.

He estimated that within the week, the orphanages would start receiving money to keep boys within their safe walls for longer. Which meant that Bruce Wayne had accidentally bought him more time. Then again, Arthur wasn't sure much of anything was an accident with Bruce Wayne.

-.-

John pushed against the door to his apartment, frowning when he realized the lamp light was on and there was someone sitting on the couch of his living room. She had her legs crossed, heel tapping against the wood of the coffee table in front of her. From head to toe she was dressed in a leather suit, small cat ears atop her head, and a mask across her face.

"To whom do I owe this pleasure?" John asked, leaning against his closed door.

The woman raised a slim brown eyebrow, her heel still tapping out a rhythm against the table. "You aren't surprised?" She seemed genuinely curious.

"I've had stranger things happen Miss...?" He let his tone end in a question, hoping she would be kind enough to tell him her name, though he wasn't expecting much.

"That was a clumsy attempt to get my name. I expected more from you," she said, a pout on her lips. Her eyes tracked him as he moved to the other side of the sofa, keeping his distance and instead leaning against the wall. If she went for the window, he would be able to catch her, the same if she moved for the door. Her eyes narrowed as she made the realization.

"So you know who I am, but I can't know who you are. How rude," Arthur said. "Was that a good enough attempt to earn me your name?"

"Nice try," the woman said with an eye roll. "You can call me Catwoman, love."

"Huh, you a crazy cat lady or something?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I didn't take you for the type to say stupid things," Catwoman said, getting smoothly to her feet, though her heel scratched through the wood of his table, making his jaw tighten. From the angle, he could see her heels had tiny blades running along the inside. "I'm not here to be mocked. I have a job to do."

"Oh so you aren't here to steal my things," Arthur said, eyebrows raising. He straightened when the woman stalked closer.

"I'm just here to steal information, Arthur," she said, lashing forward before he could react, forearm against his throat and pressing him into the wall. "I know exactly who you are, and you're going to tell me exactly what I want to know or I'll just go ahead and expose your real identity."

"And what could a cat burglar do?" he asked, ignoring the tightening in his chest. It was hard to get in a good breath past her arm. "Like the police would really believe you."

"I can be a very good actress," she said lowly, her forehead nearly pressed to his, her mint breath puffing over his lips. "So, Arthur, let's have a chat." His hand slid around to grab for his gun, but the next moment, her other hand had his wrist pinned to wall beside him.

"Get your arm off my neck and maybe I'll answer your questions," he said.

She rolled her eyes and eased her arm slightly. In that moment his other hand came around to slip under her arm, knocking it away before twisting away and lashing out with a foot. She caught it easily and shifted, spinning him so he landed face-first on the ground. He rolled onto his back, then up onto his feet, blocking the kick she had gone to deal him with his forearm, cursing when the blades of her heel cut through the fabric of his shirt to his skin.

He grabbed her ankle and spun her the way she had earlier, using the momentum to pin her to the ground with his knee. Somehow she managed to reach her arm around to grab his forearm and drag him forward, kicking his lower back so he was off balance, then sliding out from beneath him and reversing their positions. Her heel stomped down hard next to his face, blades gleaming.

"Ready to talk now?"

"Not really," he said. "But go ahead and ask your questions. We'll see what happens."

He felt more than heard her laugher as she leaned over him, placing her lips to his ear. "It's a shame that we have to do this, I like you."

"You know, usually my interrogators aren't so hands on," Arthur admitted as one of her hands slid up his back and over his shoulder. "And I would prefer if we could just get this over with quickly so you would stop touching me."

She gave a soft laugh and withdrew to sit comfortably on his back. "Alright, princess. First question. Why are you here? Who's your employer?"

"Foley. I'm a cop," Arthur said.

"But you weren't before then," she said. "You're here for a job of another variety, aren't you?"

"No job," Arthur said. "Not of the illegal variety. I'm not like you."

"Not like me? From what I've heard, you're as much of a thief as I am," she said. "Just because you steal ideas, doesn't mean you're _better_ than me."

_So she has an inferiority complex,_ he thought, not daring to say the words out loud. This wasn't a dream, and the blades of her heels were a little too close to his face for him to be willing to take the chance of pissing her off.

"Is that all you wanted?" he asked, wiggling a bit beneath her.

One of her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and shoved him harder against the ground. "You never answered my other question. _Why_ are you here?"

Arthur sighed against the floor, twisting his head a bit so he could breath easier. "Who wants to know?"

"Honey, you aren't doing the questioning here," she said, her tone sounding more bored than angry. Certainly an improvement. "Just answer my questions and maybe I won't steal all your valuables on my way out."

"And if I don't? What will you do, kill me?" Arthur asked. The woman really was an amateur. Whoever had hired her clearly didn't want him dead, otherwise she would've threatened him with death. There was nothing the woman could really do to him, and from the way she shifted on top of him, she knew it too.

"Okay, let's put it this way," she said. "I'll get killed if I don't bring back the information he wants. So just give me some bullshit line, or the truth, and we can all move on."

"Why don't you just run?" Arthur asked. "Didn't you get some of the money up front?"

She laughed, easing off of him completely, heels clicking across the floor as she headed towards the window. He rolled to his feet, watching her carefully. "For all you claim to not being like me, you sure know a lot about how to deal with criminals. Of course I took some money up front."

"So there's a male criminal who wants information on me," Arthur said, grinning when her expression turned to a frown. "That wouldn't be much to go on, but I've only run into one criminal in Gotham who could possibly want something to do with me. Was it Bane?"

The woman was good. Her expression betrayed nothing about what he said. It was a shot in the dark really, to see if he could get a reaction out of her, but it seemed she was too well trained. Either way, there was no criminal in Gotham that would know he was Arthur. He had purposely avoided work in the city earlier, so that he wouldn't have any chance of running into someone he used to know. Bane was the only criminal that came from the outside.

"Look, I already told you I'm not answering any of your questions, at least not ones like that. He's got some information I need, and he won't give it to me unless I give him something in return," she said, opening his window and turning to sit on the sill.

"Surely you can come up with something your own," Arthur said.

"Perhaps, but he obviously knows you as Arthur, which means he must know you better than me. I don't want to chance something he won't believe," the woman said with a sigh, reclining against the window frame.

"Fine, I'll give you a believable lie, but only because I don't like seeing people die, even if they are cat burglars," Arthur said.

He didn't bother asking if she had stolen anything valuable. If she had, she would've already used it as leverage for him to talk, instead of just accepting some half-baked lie. She had come to interrogate him only, which was odd if he was right about her employer.

"And do you want me to do something kind for you in return?" she asked, the sarcasm thick in her voice.

"No," Arthur said simply. "Tell him I'm here because I got sick of my old work. That should work." It was the truth, but sometimes, the truth could work just fine as a lie.

A slim eyebrow raised. "You expect him to believe that one of the best Point Men in the world is here because he's _retiring_?"

"Maybe he won't, but at the very least it'll get him interested enough to turn his attention to me instead of you," Arthur said. "So I take it you are familiar with dream-sharing."

She shrugged, swinging her legs out the window. "Only what he told me about you. There's no real file on you, just things and rumors people have heard through the grapevine." She rolled her eyes at his expression. "Nothing _here_ of course. No one here knows that Officer John Blake used to work with the shadier side of things. My information comes from other sources."

"Good to hear. It was nice meeting you," Arthur said. "But I'd prefer to never see you again."

"Can't say I share the sentiment," she said as she glanced over her shoulder, a small pout on her lips. "You're kind of cute after all."

"Have a good night."

"It'd be better with you," she said, but with a small wave, she was gone.

He waited a few moments before moving to the window, shutting and locking it before heading for the bedroom. Everything was exactly where he left it, not a hairs breadth out of line. He'd have to put in some security measures to make sure he didn't get any other unwelcome visitors. The event left him feeling uneasy.

The whole point of coming to Gotham was to let Arthur go, but with the way things were going, he'd have to fall back on his old instincts to keep his new identity safe.

-.-

_Arthur stared at the note, written in Eames' distinctive handwriting. It was distinctive, because there was nothing fancy about it at all. Plain, simple, no flourishes, no small ticks that would tell it apart from anyone else's handwriting. _

_ But it was a note, and that was an improvement over the last time they had slept together. That time, the Forger had just up and ran before Arthur had awoken, leaving him to wonder what had happened between them. The note said nothing more than they would see each other soon, but...it was progress. _

_ Progress towards what he wasn't sure, but he wasn't too upset by the prospect of possibly having someone besides Dom that he could rely on. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, and it isn't even that long. I'm having trouble with some of the plot again, but hopefully once I figure things out the chapters will start getting longer again. I don't own The Dark Knight Rises/Batman/Inception. Reviews are loved. **

"Mayor's daughter got kidnapped last night apparently," Ross said as he and John began their route.

"Any leads?" John asked.

"Nope, and it's a damn shame. I was looking forward to some excitement," Ross said.

"You know, every time you say that, someone shows up dead so could you just, I don't know, not say it anymore?"

Ross laughed. "Nah, no correlation man. You're imagining things. So I heard you and Foley had a falling out last week. Is that true? Because seriously, he's not someone you want to piss off. Figured you knew that."

"Yeah, I'm aware," John said.

Ross spared John only one more shake of his head before changing the subject. "Anyways, people are saying it's probably going to turn into a hostage situation."

"Gotham get a lot of those?" John asked.

"Not so much anymore," Ross said, then flashed a grin at him. "Thanks to the Dent Act."

"GPD must be getting soft then," John said. "Think you'll be able to handle it if it actually happens?" It was partially a joke, but on some level, he was curious what Ross' answer would be, even if he already knew what the reality was.

"Of course," Ross said. "Just because we haven't had practice doesn't mean we don't know how to do our job."

John didn't bother to point out that without practice, the instinct that saved lives vanished as if it had never been there. Cops had pride, he knew that, and they wouldn't admit that they had any weaknesses as a group.

"We need all units to West and 84th. The mayor's daughter has been located."

"Now you'll see what I mean," Ross said. "The GPD is not to be messed with."

-.-

_ Right._

John tapped his gun against his thigh as he looked up. As far as hostage situations went, it was pretty standard. Demanding money, holding the girl on the roof with a gun to her head. If they shot the kidnapper, they'd both topple off the building and die.

And no one knew what to do. The mayor couldn't pay the ransom without dipping into the government funds (illegal) and everyone appeared to be too chicken shit to do anything. Finally, the Commissioner's vehicle wheeled up, a row of police cars behind John and Ross.

John backed up as the Commissioner got out of the car, easily situating himself next to the man before any of the superior officers reached him.

"It's a right mess, isn't it? All of this?" The Commissioner gestured at the convoluted tangle of cop cars before them.

"I can save her," John said. "Let me go into the building, I'll have this done in ten minutes."

The Commissioner's eyebrows raised. "So you're asking permission to go against everything we all learned in police academy?"

John nodded; no sense in lying. "You said I've got to stand out, didn't you? Prove that I'm good at my job?"

"Well yes, but this isn't exactly what I meant John," the Commissioner said. "There are lives at stake here."

"I'm not going to let her die."

The Commissioner looked around, taking in the confusion, the difficulty the superior officers were having trying to reach him through the haphazardly parked cars. His eyes flickered back, and john could see his mind had been made up.

"Alright. You have my permission. Can you get in without him seeing you?"

John looked to the Commissioner's side, at the megaphone lying on his dash. "You can distract him, right?"

The Commissioner followed his gaze, a slow smile forming. "Don't mess this up, Officer."

"I won't sir."

_Not this time._

Arthur left the Commissioner to it, beginning his own trek through the ranks towards the front, heading for the right so that he could sneak around the back. The megaphone, the man's shouted voice, it was all white noise to him and before long he was at the back perimeter, the area a mix of cops and employees from the evacuated building. Being a cop made it easier to convince a hysterical employee to let him use her access card to get into the normally locked stairwell.

Before all of this, there had been a hostage he wasn't able to save. It made it all the more urgent that he succeeded, because if he failed now, it was proof that he wasn't any use as a dream-worker or as a cop. There was a moment as he climbed the stairs, that he wished they were all in a dream. At one point, it would have made the job easier. He knew better now though, so he shoved the thought away.

Arthur reached the last flight of stairs and couldn't help but allow himself a small grin. Whoever the kidnapper was, he was inexperienced. The door leading out to the roof was side open, so creeping through it silently was easy. The noise of Gordon over the megaphone, as well as the kidnapper's own shouted demands grew louder for a moment, before fading to the back of his mind, and for a moment, all he could register was the sound of the crying girl. She wasn't struggling, the only movement being her heaving shoulders beneath the man's arm tight around her neck.

John moved forward, feet gliding over the pavement-

_ And Arthur raised his gun, his aim steadied and practiced-_

John angled slightly to the left, being careful to stay out of the man's peripherals-

_But he had misjudged his enemy. He should've known better._

In the next moment, John darted forward, arm wrapping around the man's neck-

_And the attacker whirled, catching Arthur by the throat, tossing him to the ground-_

His momentum helped him carry down all three of them, the girl rolling away with a broken sob-

_A gun shot echoed-_

But it went wide, nicking his shoulder. John kicked the man's gun away before pressing his own to the kidnapper's head-

_And then Arthur woke up, the man already long gone from the room-_

For a moment, his finger spasmed against the trigger. He cocked the gun up at the last second, cracking the butt of the pistol against the man's head. John turned towards the girl-

_But she was dead, a bloodied hole at the center of her head. Why was he even alive when she was not? Why leave him alive? Was he not still a threat?_

And she was smiling through her tears, arms wrapped tight around her knees. The smile dissolved into hyseterical laughter as John got to his feet, walking over to her on shaking legs, offering a hand down to her-

_Arthur couldn't stop shaking her, urging her to open her eyes and awaken. Why? Why, why, why, she was so young, soyoungwhy-_

Her arms wrapped tight around him, and he was able to ignore the twinge in his shoulder because she was safe, she was-

_Dead and it was his fault, he was useless, why was she dead? Where was the man? Would he come back to finish the job? Whywhywhy-_

-.-

"You did a good job."

John drew his gun, his breath escaping his mouth in a quick rush as he realized it was Bru-Batman hovering at the hallway entrance at the other end of the living room. He moved to sit down on the couch as John lowered his gun.

"I'm getting really tired of people breaking into my flat," he said as he shut the door behind him.

"Happens to you often?" Batman asked.

"Yeah, and it's always people dressed up as animals. What's next, Raccoon-Man?" He dropped his bag by the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm just here to say good job. Who else broke in?"

John turned to look at him, unable to stop the near hysterical giggle that escaped him. "Seriously, I know who you are. Is all that really necessary?"

Batman stared at him, and he supposed that was answer enough. "The break in?"

"Called herself Catwoman. Hired by someone I used to know I'm guesssing. She didn't really cause any trouble," John said.

"Shouldn't you be more concerned?"

"Look, I just want to sleep. We can talk about...whatever, later. Or something," John said, drifting towards the kitchen.

"You might be the only one to talk to me like that." John couldn't tell if the vigilante was offended or not, and his mind was still too scrambled from the day's earlier events to bother trying to figure it out.

"I'll be less offensive when I'm not coming down from shock."

"You saved a girl. Was it that traumatic?"

John opened the fridge door and pulled out a jug of orange juice. He poured himself a glass and then turned to face the other man, taking a quick sip before speaking. "Not all shock results from trauma."

"The hospital wouldn't have let you go if you were still in shock."

"Emotional shock. Just as damaging, easier to hide with practice," John said, waving a hand in the air. "Masks are easy, you know that. So really. Now isn't the time if you want me to be processing what you're saying."

Batman got to his feet and headed towards the window. "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some rest."

"Yeah, yeah," John said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Hey, uh, it's good to see you, back out there and everything."

Batman hesitated, hovering on the windowsill. He gave John a firm nod. "It's good to be back." Then he was gone, the flutter of his cape fading into nothing.

Arthur sagged against the counter, his hand trembling around the glass. He set it on the counter moments before his legs gave out, and he sank to the floor. Finally, he could relax the iron grip he had clenched around his mind, the grip he had tightened the moment he had safely returned the girl to the ground.

He suspected that the Commissioner had seen the look in his eyes before he had clamped down on it. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt such elation, experienced such a high from a successful job. Inception? It came close, sure, but that was only his life on the line. This time it had been his sanity.

And he had won. Arthur had proved that he could do more good in the world as John the cop than he could as Arthur the Point Man. It was perfect. He could finally settle into his old life and be content with the fact that he was going to do more good in the world than harm.

So why did he feel so fucking empty? At first, he was riding high on the adrenaline and the success, but now he felt like he was leaving something behind. On some level, Arthur recognized the feeling. After Inception, a similar feeling of loss and helplessness had overcome him, but Eames had taken care of him, coddled him until he could function once more. Oddly enough, that was the last time they had seen one another.

A shudder wracked his body as he curled tighter on himself, hand groping along his thigh to push his phone out of his pocket. It clattered on the floor for a moment before he wrapped his hand around it, thumb pressing down on the familiar speed dial to Eames' private phone.

Though the man had disappeared over a year ago, vanishing without a trace, the phone still went to his voicemail. That alone was a sign that he kept it charged, why Arthur didn't know. Perhaps it was because he knew that when Arthur was at his lowest, he would call, out of habit or out of something else entirely. Would call to hear his voice and fool himself into thinking, for just a moment, that he wasn't achingly, terrifyingly alone in the world.

-.-

"_You aren't Catholic."_

_ "Doesn't mean I can't make a confession."_

_ "John..."_

_ "I broke the law. Numerous times. It's how I made my living since I left Gotham. I killed a lot of innocent men, and guilty men w ho had never been officially tried. I stole national secrets, helped break up international companies, and my actions got a girl who had done nothing wrong, murdered."_

Arthur woke up with a start, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stared at himself in the mirror across from his bed.

"As if I could ever tell anyone the truth," he murmured. Because the one person who knew was gone.

-.-

John resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest, not wanting to appear as stand off-ish as he felt under Foley's glower. He had been called in the moment he arrived at work, and the look Foley was giving him wasn't the least bit promising. It didn't help that the man hadn't said a word since he arrived, no doubt trying to make him squirm. Arthur was positive he could wait him out but pissing Foley off even more wasn't going to help so-

"You know, I'm basically getting paid to sit in your office, so we might want to start this conversation," John said. _Well that didn't out the way I intended._

"I don't know what you did to convince Gordon that you deserve a promotion, but I don't plan on giving it to you," Foley said.

"Then don't," John said with a shrug. "But have fun explaining why the guy who saved the mayor's daughter didn't even get a pay raise let alone a promotion."

"Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?" Foley asked.

"Don't believe I ever said anything of that nature, I'm just stating facts," John said. He was digging himself an even deeper hole, but if he had read Foley right, the man's desire to appear good in the public eye would outweigh his desire to get even with him.

Foley's gaze sharpened for a moment, but then he eased back in his chair. "Why do you want to be promoted? Wasn't the whole point in coming here to keep your head down?"

Arthur leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of Foley's desk. "I guess that's part of it. But being a cop, where I am now, is useless. I can't do anything helpful. So, that's what I want. I want to save people."

"Well aren't you the idealist," Foley said with a scoffing laugh.

"I've seen too much in my life to be an idealist," Arthur said. "I'm not naïve, that was burned out of me a long time ago."

"Then you know I have no god damned reason to trust you. And if I can't trust you, there's no way in hell I'll promote you."

"You won't ever trust me," John said.

"Can't say I will."

John forced the anger welling up in his chest back down and leaned back in his chair. "So you called me in here to tell me what I'm never going to be promoted?"

"No, I'm saying you'll have to do something that will make me want to promote you," Foley said. "Trust or not."

"Or I could just ask the Commissioner for it," John said.

"Gordon hasn't promoted anyone in years, and saving the mayor's daughter is no reason to promote you to detective," Foley said. "But nice try. If I didn't know you through Saito, I probably would've promoted you."

"Now you're just trying to make me angry, aren't you?"

Foley shrugged. "It'd be nice because then I could fire you, but we have an agreement."

"Can I just go do my job now?" John asked. "This conversation is going nowhere."

"You're missing the point I'm trying to make," Foley said. "If it weren't for your past, you'd be promoted. Saito told me you're the best at forging new identities, but even you aren't able to run away from the influence of your past. The sooner you learn that, the better off you are."

Arthur had a retort, but it died in his throat as he realized that for the first time, Foley was right. Foley know who he was, and so did Father Reilly, or rather they knew the different masks he wore, but even so, it proved Foley to be right. Not to mention whoever had sent Catwoman to question him knew who he really was.

"Are you done then?" he asked, sliding behind the emotionless mask he had grown so used to as Arthur.

"Yes, I'm done. Keep up the good work, John."

-.-

_"Does this always happen after a job gone bad?"_

_ Arthur pressed the back of his hand over his eyes, his other arm dangling from where it was propped up on his knee. "What do you mean?"_

_ Eames eased himself down to sit beside him on the floor, enveloping the Point Man's free hand in two of his own. "Shaky, paranoid, the list goes on."_

_ "Every job."_

_ "Every job that goes wrong?"_

_ "Every job."_

_ "Arthur..."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Let's not talk about how long this took to get out, k? And how it isn't even long enough to be worth it :P Hope you all enjoy, things are gonna start picking up for this story soon as far as momentum goes. Reviews are loved, I don't own Batman/Dark Knight/Whatever you wanna call it. **

"So I wowed the people, made the papers, but Foley still won't promote me," John said.

He was sitting beside the Commissioner, the sun setting and casting a glow over the old bat signal. It had turned into something of a tradition over the last few weeks, both men coming up at the end of the day. Gordon wasn't supposed to, but he often shared information from his cases with John to see if the younger officer could connect any dots he had missed. They were mostly cold cases, but every once in awhile, John was able to point something out that would warrant a re-opening of a case. It was something, made him feel a little bit more useful, but it was still too little. He wanted to do more.

"Foley's a hard man to impress," Gordon said. "He's seen more than someone as young as yourself."

John couldn't hold in his laugh, realizing he was being unforgivably rude but unable to help himself. Gordon's expression was mildly scandalized.

"I'm sorry," John said. "But Foley knows I've seen more than he has. That's why he doesn't want me promoted. He doesn't think I'm trustworthy."

It had nothing to do with his skill, or his lack of experience. A moment later, he registered the curious look Gordon was giving him and mentally cursed for saying too much. He was so eager for someone to know the truth, know who he really was under the mask of John Blake. Which only made him angrier, because John Blake wasn't supposed to be a mask, he was supposed to be the real him.

"Son? Are you alright?"

Arthur got to his feet. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow Commissioner."

"John?"

But Arthur was already heading back down, shoving the other thoughts out of his head.

He wanted to kick himself for what he was feeling though, what he was wishing for. Crime. An opportunity to prove to Foley that he was trustworthy. It wasn't like he wanted anyone to be murdered, but an attempted killing would've been helpful. Of course he immediately regretted the thoughts when they passed through his mind, but it had been two months with no progress.

He was growing increasingly frustrated, and the idea of going to check the sewers out himself grew more tempting the more impatient he got. Which was stupid, given how thoroughly he got his ass kicked last time.

John opened the door to his apartment, barely hiding his surprise when he saw Catwoman perched on his sofa. "You could just knock on my door you know."

She smiled with a small shrug and rose to her feet, slinking towards him. "But this is so much more fun." Her hand fluttered along his shoulder, slid down his chest to fiddle with the badge on his chest. He crooked an eyebrow at her. She frowned in response and stepped away, turning towards the window. "My employer wanted me to send a warning."

"Oh lovely. Gonna tell me who that boss is?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Can't do that, even if I wanted to." She leaned against the windowsill, then turned to face him. "My employer says you should go elsewhere for your retirement." Her expression said she still didn't buy his 'retirement' excuse, which was amusing given that he hadn't even lied to her.

"Well, tell your employer I quite like this city and don't plan on leaving."

The woman shrugged and opened the window. "You're probably going to regret that, but I'll carry your message on."

"Am I going to see you again?"

"Aw, did you miss me when I was gone?" Her pout was sardonic as she rolled her eyes.

"No, I just want to know if my house is going to get broken into again," john said.

She could only shrug once more before vanishing out the window. He sighed, wiping a hand down his face before heading to his bedroom. Not the best way to start a Friday night, certainly. He supposed it would be best to do some research though, try and figure out who Catwoman was, who her employer was, or at least a list of suspects on who her employer could be. He was pretty sure Bane was a good guess.

Then again, it wasn't like he was an expert on Gotham's bad guys, but last he checked, none of his known enemies were anywhere near the city. Which meant that he was dealing with someone new that he had pissed off. And Bane was the only one that fit that description.

Perhaps it was in his best interest to mention his theories to Bruce, though he doubted he'd be getting in touch with the man on his own terms. So in the mean time, he'd continue on as he had, dig for as much information on the man as possible, see if the man had any weaknesses, emotional or physical. Write up a profile, then figure out how to take him down. Just like any other job, and hopefully before Bane grew tired of letting Arthur run around free and have his little messenger turn into his assassin instead.

-.-

John sat across from Gordon, knowing the question on the man's lips before he spoke.

"You going to explain yourself?"

"Depends on what you want me to explain," John said.

"What you said the other day," Gordon said with a small nod, folding his hands together on top of the desk.

John looked down at his lap. "I can't sir, I'm sorry. I said too much."

"Son, you can't get promoted if you keep hiding secrets from everyone on the force," Gordon said with a crooked eyebrow. "And if you don't tell me, I'm going to have to fire you and that's not something I want to do."

"Dammit, Commissioner, we all have our secrets, let me have mine," John said. "It's not even supposed to be a big deal, it was just something that slipped out." He wished that he could shut his mouth and think over the words that insisted on pouring out, but not matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull the mask of Arthur back on.

"Son, I'd believe you if you weren't so distressed over this whole matter," Gordon said. "Whatever this secret of yours is, it's killing you and I just want to help."

"And thank you for that, but this is a personal matter that's unrelated to work," John said.

Gordon shook his head. "If you keep all that stress inside, it's going to start affecting your work and that's not acceptable. I'm telling Foley to give you the rest of the day off. Go home and fix whatever it is that's thrown you off. Or tell me and I'll do what I can to help."

John clenched his jaw tight. "If I tell you, it can't be on the clock."

"Alright, I'll meet you where we usually talk after your shift," Gordon said.

John got to his feet and made to leave the room.

"I know you don't believe me John, but I'm doing this for your own good," Gordon said.

John released the doorknob, anger rising up hot in his chest. But he couldn't afford to blow up and let the anger out; it'd only make things worse. "I think I'll take that day off Commissioner."

"Alright John."

-.-

Arthur slammed his door shut when he arrived home, sinking down to the floor against it, fingers twisting into his hair. It was impossible to experience the adrenaline rush of the job and just go back to work, go back to being normal and in control when there was no one around for him to trust, no one to-

"I just wanted to talk over some business but it looks like you could use some help."

Arthur drew his gun, aiming it towards the speaker only to have it slide out of his grasp. Bruce stood in front of him, dressed in a well-tailored suit with his hair slicked back. His eyebrows were raised as he took in the sight before him, and the mixture of pity and something else he couldn't identify made his stomach churn from anger. He didn't need pity from anyone.

His hand scrabbled for the gun, aiming it at Bruce's chest. "Now really isn't the time for discussion."

"I think now is the perfect time. You helped me when I was down, got me back out in the world; allow me to do the same for you." Bruce stepped closer, and John clicked the safety off his gun.

"Thanks, but I'll pass," John said. "I'd like to be alone thanks."

"You're falling apart at the seams John, anyone with eyes can see that."

"So leave and I'll put myself back together," John said, finger tightening on the trigger.

Bruce moved fast, foot lashing out and kicking the gun out of his hands, sending it flying across the room. "Calm. Down."

The order was firm and all at once, the tension drained out of him and he slumped completely against the door. Bruce shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it over the couch arm before crouching in front of him. "So, what just happened?"

"You know what's the worst part about my old job?"

"Rhetorical question?"

John gave a short, barking laugh. "No shit. Before this, I never had to worry about my identity. I was a part of the machine, the Point Man. Now I'm here, and I have to be a person, and I don't know who I am because I spent my whole god damn life wearing a mask." The words escaped his mouth without permission, but he didn't feel like stopping them. He had spent the last few months keeping a mask up while whoever he was on the inside shifted and twisted and changed without his permission, and it was driving him insane.

"What did you do before this?"

Arthur looked at him. "Dream work. Illegally stole information from people's minds, tried to make the world a better place by going around the law. Didn't work as well as I thought it would so-"

"You became a cop." Bruce sat down, arms hanging over his knees.

For a moment, the hilarity of the entire situation made him laugh, head thunking back against the wooden door. "I've got Bruce fucking Wayne sitting on my floor giving me a therapy session. What the hell."

Bruce snorted, and his reaction drew another laugh from John's chest. "Feeling better now?"

"Yeah, I guess, and that's the important thing right?" Arthur said, shoving the rest of his bad feelings to the back of his mind. "You said you had business to discuss, and given that you aren't in the bat suit, I'm assuming it isn't criminal related."

"Actually, I'm not sure," Bruce said, getting back to his feet. "I was hoping I could employ your skills. Skills from your old life."

Arthur shook his head as he stood up. "I'm trying not to get sucked back into vigilante work."

"Not vigilante, it's for my business," Bruce said.

"What do you want?"

"Information," Bruce said. "Checking the backgrounds of everyone on the executive board of Wayne Enterprises. I need to know if they check out clean."

"Can't you do that yourself?" Arthur moved across the room to pick up his gun, clicking the safety back on and shoving it in its holster. "You were able to find out my name. You're no push over when it comes to digging."

"But you're better."

Arthur shook his head. "Don't ask me to go back to that life. It's a slippery slope I don't want to be on."

"You know, you are a complete stranger. And you know my true identity. That, normally, isn't a risk I'm willing to let happen, but I'm trusting you now."

"Flattery of any kind will get you nowhere," Arthur said. "I'm not helping you, not with this."

"Alright, I can accept that," Bruce said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But can I ask you another favor? This one being entirely legal of course."

"No harm in asking," Arthur said with a shrug.

"I need a system of mine encrypted, need it to be unbreakable, but undetectable," Bruce said.

"What kind of secrets are you trying to hide?" Arthur asked. "Don't give me details, don't care about that, just an outline."

"You'll do it?" Bruce asked, genuinely surprised.

"Never said that.

Bruce's lips quirked up into a smirk. "It's an energy source that could be turned into a weapon. I want to have the system be triggered to self destruct if it's ever weaponized."

Arthur frowned. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose? I mean, if the thing goes boom, that could be dangerous."

"By self-destruct, I mean rendered useless," Bruce said.

"You're asking for something very specific. I'd need access to the entire main frame and to work with this object directly," Arthur said. "And as you so nicely said, I'm a stranger that you don't trust that already knows a lot about you. I don't think it would be a smart move to give me even more power over you. I don't even want that kind of power." He was already carrying more weight on his shoulders than strictly healthy.

Bruce took his hands out of his pockets, arms folding over his chest as he examined Arthur once more. As if seeing him in a new light, a light Arthur wasn't sure he was comfortable being seen in. "You know, if anyone else was asked to have the power to bring Bruce Wayne to his knees, they would seize that chance. But you don't."

"Well, unfortunately, I'm not just anyone."

"Unfortunately?" Bruce's right eyebrow crooked upwards.

"What I wouldn't give to be just anyone. What do you think I've been doing since I got here?" Arthur shook his head. "I don't want that power, Bruce. I'm sorry."

Bruce sighed and picked up his suit jacket. "Let me know if you change your mind. You could be doing the world a favor."

An image of a small girl, lying in a pool of her own blood, eyes glassy, entered his mind. "The world is better off without me doing it any favors, trust me."

"I think you're wrong Arthur," Bruce said, opening the apartment door.

"My name is John."

Bruce closed the door behind him without a response.

-.-

_Eames' hand slid through Arthur's hair, scratching at his scalp as the Point Man shuddered and writhed against him. His other hand was wrapped tight around Arthur's cock, bring Arthur to the edge again and again until he was practically sobbing into Eames' neck. But he was never brought over, just teased and tortured. When Eames finally shoved him over the edge, let his pleasure overwhelm and consume him, he held on tight to the Point Man, eased him down onto the bed and began working his hands over the other's muscles, working out every last bit of tension. Cleaned him up, tucked him in, and let him crash in peace. _

-.-

When Arthur woke the next morning, there was a note awaiting him on the kitchen counter. He supposed he would've been worried if it weren't for the fact that he was used to people breaking in, and the handwriting was Bruce's. He remembered the flowing handwriting from his childhood, on a check Father Riley had received from Wayne Enterprises.

_Do what you can to get in the papers. Once the public starts calling for your promotion, Foley won't have a choice. _

Great advice, except thanks to the Dent Act, there was rarely anyone to save. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, grabbing the letter and taking it to the paper shredder. Bruce's offer came back to him, and he searched over his memory for any sign that there was some ulterior motive to it all. The man had seemed genuine, and given what little he actually knew about his personality, it was unlikely he was devising a plan to kill anyone. He'd be protecting people legally.

The phone on the wall rang, the first time since he had moved in, and there was only one person he had given the number to. He set Bruce's note on the table and answered the phone.

"Hello."

"John? It's Father Riley."

Something cold settled in Arthur's gut. "Father? It's five in the morning."

"Yes, well one of my boys went missing. Fourth one in the last two weeks," the man said, voice strained.

"Did you file a missing persons report?" Arthur asked.

"Of course I did, for all four of them, but you know cops. These kids are orphans, no one cares if they go missing.."

John sighed. "Look, I'll see what I can push through on this, see if I can get someone on it. If not...I'll figure something out."

"Thank you John. I don't want to lose anymore kids."

"Yeah, I know."

John hung up the phone. The first bit of real excitement in weeks, capable of pumping him up to another adrenaline high so he didn't have to worry about crashing back down, at least not yet. He had another job and he couldn't come back down until it was done.

Arthur tried not to think about what would happen when he finally tail spinned out of control.

-.-

"Am I doing _anything_ else today besides patrol?" John asked.

"Patrol is important," Foley said.

"There are kids disappearing off the streets, all from the same orphanage. You can't tell me that doesn't seem a little suspicious," John said.

"The kid's right Foley. I think we should let him build the case."

John spun around, surprised to see the Commissioner hovering in the doorway of Foley's office. The Commissioner didn't spare him a glance, moving past him to stand in front of Foley's desk. "I also want to know why four disappearances from the same place in two weeks was not brought to me attention."

"Gordon, you can't tell me you think this is a serious problem. Those kids, they aren't going anywhere, and they know it. They probably just shacked up with some gang," Foley said.

"You aren't serious," John said. "Just because they're orphans, grew up in a boy's home, you think they're gang members now?"  
"John," the Commissioner said, voice sharp.

John clenched his jaw tight, keeping his mouth shut.

"Why do you want such a hot head on the case?" Foley demanded.

"Because he suspected there was something off about the orphans going missing before you did. I'm assigning him to it, Foley. Get him the missing person reports." Gordon was firm, but for a moment, John thought Foley was going to resist.

"Fine. Ross will be working with him. I don't want him just doing what he wants out there," Foley said, turning his glare on John. "You don't make a move without Ross' approval."

"I'm just trying to save some kids," John said. "Nothing else."

"See that you do, or I'm never giving you another case."

"I am more than willing to take that risk," John said.

Foley just shook his head. "I'll give the reports to Ross, you can meet him down at your car."

"Sounds good," John said with a small smile.

He didn't hesitate to get out of the man's office then, Gordon right behind him. Once the door was shut, he turned to the Commissioner, but Gordon was smiling at him.

"I bet you're wondering why I stood up for you in there," he said, planting his feet as he folded his arms across his chest. "And I'll give you the answer. After our talk, I decided it's about time I take a leap of faith and trust you."

_A leap of faith. _

John's jaw tightened, but he let out a strained smile. "Thanks, Commissioner."

"Just don't disappoint me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Look chapters are getting longer! We should all be excited. Also, I hope you continue to enjoy, things are about to get really exciting for this story. I don't own the Dark Knight or Batman or whatever. Reviews are loved. **

Ross marked the last place on the map and shoved it over to John's side of the table. They were at a small diner to grab coffee while going over the reports Foley had turned over, and while Ross wasn't the most enthusiastic partner when it came to the case, at least he felt like he was accomplishing something now.

"Why you insist on harassing Foley is beyond me, but thanks for a little excitement," Ross said as John looked over the map.

Ross had marked small dots where the kids were last seen, and barring one kid, they all vanished around the same area. "Well, the circumstances were too suspicious for me to let go."

"Oh come on. It's like Foley said. Those kids have a tendency to join gangs and become huge headaches later on," Ross said. "Who gives a damn?"

"Ross, I'm only going to say this one time, and will not hesitate to kick your ass if you offend me again. I grew up in that home. Father Riley was a good parent and ninety percent of the time, when we left it wasn't to join a gang. So stop being an ignorant asshole and don't stereotype a group of kids that might be dead." John folded up the map. "Now let's go."

As they got back in the car, Ross looked over at him. "Look man, I'm-"

"Ross, don't apologize when you don't mean it."

Ross didn't say anything for the rest of the ride.

-.-

"So who were the last kids to see these boys?" John asked.

He and Ross sat across from Father Riley, the usual hum of noise blocked out by his office door.

"James, he's only five, and his story keeps changing," Father Riley said, leaning back in his chair. "The other two boys, one of them went missing a few days after the one he reported, and the other is Mark."

"Mark? His brother was the boy I found before, right?" John asked.

Father Riley nodded. "He's had a rough time though, go easy on him if you question him."

"I'll be sure to. I'll stop in before I leave too," John said, getting to his feet. Ross followed his example.

Father Riley stood as well. "Thank you, John. I was worried this was all going to be swept under the rug like it always was before. You're doing us a world of help."

"I'll do what I can," John promised. He nudged Ross to follow him out the door, making his way up the twisting staircase to the roof where the kids would be playing, where he was sure he'd find Mark.

"He seems like a good man," Ross said as John opened the door. Mark was right where he had been before, off in his own corner, drawing on the benches.

"Yeah, he is," John said. "You should probably stay here."

Ross shook his head. "No, I'll come and listen. And I won't say anything offensive or rude to the kid, I'm not that big of a jerk."

"He doesn't like cops so much," John said.

"You're a cop!"  
John waved a hand in dismissal and headed across the rooftop. Mark had moved down a row, the top row already covered by the bat symbol. "Wanna guess why I'm here?"

"I saw one of the boys last. Gonna try and find them, aren't you?"

"Yeah," John said. "Still working on your brother's case too."

"We all know who killed him, case closed," Mark said, looking up at him. "And it's the same for the others. They tried to leave, but no one likes loose ends, so they disappear."

"You sure?" John asked.

Mark nodded. "Except for Jacob. He didn't work in the sewers."

"Who's Jacob?" John asked. He knew of course. Jacob was the outlier, the boy who had vanished on a nicer side of town, nowhere near a sewer entrance. Mark had just confirmed some of his suspicions.

"James' older brother," Mark said. "But James has issues. He can't decide what he saw."

"Overactive imagination?"

Mark shook his head. "It's how he is. Trauma, you know. His dad beat the shit out of him, so he had to lie to the counselors to cover it up. Got wrapped up in his own fantasy world and never got out." Mark reached into his pocket and handed him a piece of chalk. "Make yourself useful."

John obeyed, scrawling out the bat symbol next to where he sat. "That's pretty deep, for someone so young."

Mark shrugged. "I'm kind of the older brother for the younger ones. Someone's gotta take care of them. And they made fun of him, so I beat them up."

"Them?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "The stupid bullies. You know that."

John smirked. "So the other kids made fun of him. And you took them down?"

"I'm tougher than I look." The younger boy was practically preening under his own praise, and it made a grin break free on John's lips.

"I'll have to teach you some tricks," John said.

"Nah, I can handle myself," Mark said. "Anything else you want to know?"  
"Yeah, actually," John said. "Why are you so eager to help me?"

"Because you are so eager to help us," Mark said. "No one else is, so I keep my mouth shut when they ask. But you care." He got to his feet and took the chalk out of John's hand. "If you find James' brother, that'd be great. He won't survive long without him."

"Literally?" John asked as Mark began to walk away.

"No." Mark tapped the side of his head before vanishing into a throng of playing children.

John sighed and got to his feet. Ross was still awkwardly hovering by the door, and the tension noticeably drained out of him as John approached.

"Come on, I'll get you away from the terrifying children," John said.

"That's not the issue," Ross said as they headed down the stairs. "It's just I've...locked some of their siblings up. I recognize them from the hearings."

"Then they probably recognized you too. Check your pockets," John said.

Ross let out a string of curses as they arrived at Father Riley's door, and John grinned. "Little bastards stole forty bucks out of my wallet, left a note that says 'haha'."

"That's unfortunate," John said, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

"Please don't tell me you pulled this shit when you were here," Ross said.

John just shrugged and pushed open Father Riley's door. Father Riley nodded at them as they came in and sat down.

"Did you get everything you need?" he asked.

"Almost," John said. "Just a few questions about Mark actually. He seems pretty well adjusted with everything that's happened to him."

"Well, he's a bit like you that way. Smiles in the face of tragedy. I worry about him, but there isn't much I can do when he won't let out any of his emotions," Father Riley said.

"He knew a lot," John continued. He didn't want Father Riley to start talking about his years spent in the orphanage, not in front of Ross. "Mainly about the sewers. Said a lot of boys got work there."

Riley shrugged. "That's the rumor. I don't know for sure though. I don't have the ability to follow them."

"Do you think I could talk to James? Anything he tells us could be helpful," John said.

Father Riley frowned. "I suppose you could. Most of what he says makes no sense, but you are more than welcome to try."

John nodded and got to his feet, gesturing for Ross to do the same. "Where can I find him?"

Father Riley got to his feet. "I'll take you there."

-.-

James was in one of the rooms meant for two people, which were rarely occupied. Usually the kids were just in one large room full of bunks together, but apparently, as John was learning, James was a special case. He sat on the floor, surrounded by crayons and paper. A few pages were blank, or only had a line of color sketched across them.

Ross and Father Riley stayed by the door as John moved forward and crouched beside the boy. He was scrawny, and there were angry bruises ringing his wrists, dark circles from sleep deprivation under his eyes. His dark hair made his skin seem paler than it was. Arthur's eyes flickered over the drawings, trying to find something consistent. If he could, he'd use the PASIV to try and find out what had really happened, but the next best thing would be the drawings that came out of the kid's traumatized mind. There was a possibility that a nugget of truth was hidden within them.

"James?"

"Hi." James' voice was soft and he didn't look up from his drawing.

"What are you drawing?"

James popped back to sit on his heels, pointing at the paper. "That's my brother. And that's me."

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. The brother was a gazelle, running away from a pack of lions, and James himself was a gazelle, standing off to the side. At least he assumed they were gazelles, given the horns and tiny legs. It was hard to tell.

"Who are the lions?" he asked.

James ripped the drawing up and tossed it aside, then turned his back to them all and started drawing again. Arthur didn't bother with pressing him, not wanting to push the frail boy's mind further than it was ready to go.

"I've got what I need, or at least as much as I can get," John said, shutting the door behind him as they left the room. "I'll give you a call as soon as I find anything else."

"Thank you."

-.-

"Well that was next to useless," Ross said, climbing into the car. "Actually it was worse than useless. I'm down forty bucks."

"Actually, I learned quite a bit," John said. "On the map, three of the disappearances happened in the same area. Those three kids, according to Mark, worked in the sewers but the other one, James' brother, didn't."

"Okay..." Ross was looking at him as though he wasn't making any sense.

"So, the kids that worked in the sewers are all connected. I'd give it another few days, their bodies will show up at one of the sewer outflows," John said. "Whoever they worked for is not someone to be messed with."

"The sewers? Really? I thought you'd given up on that stupid idea," Ross said. "There's no work in the sewers."

"So why do all the kids keep going down there? Why do they all know about it at the orphanage?" John asked.

Ross shrugged. "That's just kids being well...kids."

John shook his head. "Kids there? We don't really get overactive imaginations like that. Reality smacked us around a bit too much. Anyways, those three are long gone, no way we're going to find them."

"You're going to write them off just like that? Mr. I-Must-Save-The-Orphans?"

"They're already dead. The only way we can stop anymore from dying is to stop them from going to the sewers. Unfortunately, that's not something we can do, so I'm going to focus on the kid who might still be alive," John said. "Jacob. I think he was kidnapped."

"How do you figure?"

At least Ross wasn't looking at him like he had two heads anymore.

"James' drawings. He used predators and prey, and he and guess who else were the prey?"

"Him and his brother."

"Exactly. Mark said he uses his imagination to escape from reality when he can't deal with trauma. It's a type of dissociation," John said. "Couldn't get him to tell me who the predators represented though. I think we need to see if there were anymore disappearances in the same area as Jacob."

"The police would have noticed something like that," Ross said.

"Really? So why didn't they notice this case?" John asked. He didn't give Ross a chance to answer, not really in the mood to listen to the man's excuses. "We should swing by my apartment. I have some data organizers on my laptop, they'll work faster than whatever the police has."

"And you know that how?"

"I've tested my programs against theirs." Arthur shrugged. It wasn't exactly a lie. "Look, the quicker we work, the better chance we have at finding Jacob alive. I'm going to use every tool I have t my disposal."

"Is your program legal?"

John crooked an eyebrow up. "I'm a cop, Ross, and I made it myself. Yes, it's legal."

"Were you? Before this? Were you really a cop?"

Arthur's heart flipped in his chest, panic dancing on the edges of his mind. He locked the panic and fear down hard, rechanneling the adrenaline into something he could use. "Why would you even ask that? It's on my resume. You think Foley would let me in if I wasn't qualified?"

"I think he would've fired you by now if he didn't have some other reason to keep you on," Ross said.

"Maybe he secretly thinks I'm doing a good job," John said. "I don't know why he keeps me on either."

Ross was silent for a moment, and for a while Arthur thought he was going to keep pushing the issue. "Where do you live?"

"Shaw Road, by the casino," John said.

"Didn't take you to be the gambling type," Ross said. The smile was strained, but the subject was changed so he would take it.

"I'm not sitting on a pile of cash. Can't afford to gamble."

"Yeah sure," Ross pulled over into an empty parking spot. "Go grab your fancy equipment."

-.-

_"I need you to build me a past."_

_ "You already have one."_

_ "Do not tell me you did not know it was a fake at first glance. You are the best Point Man the world has seen."_

_ "It will fool most people though. And I have no reason to help you."_

_ "I am the best Forger you have ever seen. But with a past like mine, no one will hire me."_

_ "I did."_

_ "You are not most people."_

_ "Oh flattery. That's new, but it won't get you anywhere."_

_ "Money."_

_ "Money has no power over me. If I was in this only for money, I wouldn't be the best Point Man."_

_ "No amount of money?"_

_ "I don't care about money."_

_ "Interesting."_

_ "Anything else you'd like to offer? Sometimes groveling works."_

_ "No, there is something you want, I just have to figure out what it is."_

_ "You have ten minutes. Then I'm kicking you out. And if you don't leave, I'll shoot you in the head."_

_ "Oh you really know how to make a simple situation way more interesting, do you not?"_

_ "You could say that."_

_ "But there is something you want, right? I am on the right track?"_

_ Arthur continued to type, not sparing Eames a glance. _

_ "I am just going to assume that I am. You are a Point Man. You have a very distinct interest in finding the truth, for if you found anything less, you would be endangering your teammates."_

_ "Following that logic, I already know all I'd care to know about you. I researched further once I realized how painfully fake your file was."_

_ Arthur could almost hear the Forger smiling. _

_ "And what did you find, darling?"_

_ "Absolutely nothing."_

_ "Hm."  
"You're very good at disappearing, Mr. Eames. But that skill is entirely useless if you can't reappear somewhere else. Which is why you need me. But you have yet to convince me to do so."_

_ "You do this for me, and I will tell you something from my past. My real past."_

_ Arthur turned his printer on. "There'd be no way for me to check if you were telling the truth. Not as tempting as an offer as you think." He turned his computer screen towards the Forger. "Read this over. If it is satisfactory, it will be worked into the government database tonight."_

_ "But I did not give you anything. I did not bribe you."_

_ "I just wanted to watch you squirm a bit."_

_ Eames shot him a surprised look. "How cruel."_

_ "I'm not one to pass up on a good investment. You're the best Forger I've seen in a long time. I scratch your back, and hopefully you'll scratch mine. There is some honor among thieves after all."_

_ "I never did put much faith in a thief's honor. I do not think you should either."_

_ "Planning on not helping me?"  
"You are a bit of a stick in the mud. Not that fun to work with. Do you still want to help? For potentially nothing?"_

_ "Making your file took eight minutes. It wasn't as if I lost anything."_

_ "So you made me a file out of the goodness of your heart?"_

_ "I told you why. Whether you believe me or not is up to you."_

_ "You are a most interesting person."_

_ "Thank you, Mr. Eames."_

-.-

"Six kidnappings all in this area over the last ten years," John said, turning his laptop towards Ross.

Ross scanned through the readout with his free hand, biting into his grease-covered sandwich. John tugged the laptop back a bit. "They're all kids. Boys."

Ross set his sandwich down, wiping his hands off on his pants. "So we got a pedo?"

"I don't know, maybe?" John turned the laptop back. "Or just a psychopath that kills very specific targets. Brown hair, blue eyes, between 13-15 years old."

"I don't think that's a lot to go on," Ross said. "We don't have any leads on who it is after all."

"No, but we have bait, if worst comes to worst."

Ross stared at him. "You want to use a kid as bait for a potential serial killer? Jesus, what kind of precinct did you come from?"

"I said if worst comes to worst. I'd rather not send some kid out to be caught."

"I'll have to run all of this information by the Commissioner before we do anything," Ross said. "And while you've convinced me there's something going on here, I'm not sure if it's enough information to bring by the higher ups. Do you have anything else you can give me?"

John shut his laptop. "I'll let you know tomorrow morning. I'm going to check out the area later."

"What do you think you're going to find?"

"Hopefully something useful."

-.-

John had expected the place Jacob had disappeared from to be sort of out of the way, but the last place James claimed to have seen him on the report was in an alleyway right beside a busy intersection. Which meant all he had to do was check the traffic videos.

And that was why he was in the record's room pouring over footage at two in the morning. The cameras couldn't show the alleyway, and he could barely see the entrance of it at the top of the screen. He wiped a hand over his eyes and looked again. So far he had tracked James and Jacob heading up the street, and James coming back out of the alley twenty minutes later. The little boy didn't look overly put off, just walking out of sight, most likely back to the orphanage.

Sighing, he took down the exact time for his observations and popped the tape out. Once they were packed away, he pulled out a map and began looking for where the alley let out, marking the nearest intersections before heading deeper into the room to find the corresponding tapes.

"Working hard I see?"

Arthur whipped around, the tension draining out of him when he realized it was Catwoman. "So now you have to break into my workplace too?"

"It's a work related question," she said, sliding towards him. "I heard you're good at making people disappear. I was wondering if I could cash in on that."

Arthur turned back to the boxes of tapes. "No. I don't do that sort of work anymore."

"Oh right, you're a squeaky clean cop, I forgot." She grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around and pinning him to the shelf. "Isn't all this red tape annoying? Don't you wish you could just hack the systems and solve this stupid case?"

"Look, we both know I'm the farthest thing from clean with my past. But with this? My work? I'm keeping this strictly legal," he said.

"Oh?" She leaned close, every contour of her body pressing into his. "So I'll see you after work. Then you won't be breaking any laws on the job."

Arthur grabbed the hand that was sliding down his back, clenching tight around her wrist and bringing it in between them. "I'm not going to do that."

"Then I'll tell the Commissioner all about your sordid past," she hissed, yanking out of his grip. "Seems like an even trade."

"How do you know any of that anyways?" Arthur asked as he turned back to the tapes. It was a good threat, but if push came to shove, he'd-

"How I know is not important. But you aren't getting this back until you help me."

Arthur turned, heart dropping to his stomach and turning to lead. His red die was held delicately in between the woman's fingers, and a moment later, his vision began to swim. He noted that he was slipping into a panic attack as he fell against the shelf, and that the woman had stopped smiling. She kneeled over him, saying something that he couldn't hear over the roar of blood in his ears. Her expression was cruel, but it bled into something similar to concern.

She tapped his cheek and vanished out of sight. It took awhile to bring his heart rate back down, bring some semblance of clam back to his mind. As he sat up, sucking in deep lungful's of air, he glanced around the room, confirming that the woman was indeed gone. He made his way back towards the desk, not overly surprised to see a note awaiting him on the desk.

_You can have it back when you give me what I want. I'll be in touch. _

Arthur collapsed into his seat, legs trembling. Without his totem, it would be nearly impossible to keep his grip on reality. Keep a hand on who within him was real and who was just a mask.

He clamped down on the panic and forced himself back towards the tapes, finding what he wanted earlier and popping them in. Later, he could worry. When he got home, he'd let himself fall apart. But for now, he had a job, kid's to save, or something equally heroic. With his totem gone, he couldn't afford to fail.

-.-

"_What does it do?"_

_ "Helps you keep a hold of reality. Sometimes dreamwork can get tough. You lose hold of what's real and wonder if you shoot yourself in the head, if you'll wake up. You use the totem to find out if you're dreaming or not."_

_ "What's yours?"_

_ Arthur pulled out the red die. "I can show it to you, but you can't touch it, or see what it does. If you knew...I wouldn't be able to tell if I was in reality or not. He pocketed the die. "How many jobs have you worked without a totem?"_

_ "Thirty four."_

_ "Jesus Christ. You must have a tight hold on reality if you've survived this long. That takes some serious mental discipline."_

_ "Why are you helping me?"_

_ "I protect my coworkers. Those I plan on working with again anyways. You could say I'm protecting my investments."_

_ "I am a rookie. Why work with me again?"_

_ "Mr. Eames, you are a beautifully blank canvas. Perfect for a Forger."_

_ "I am flattered."_

_ "No you're not. You don't give a damn what I think. I'm just a means to an end."_

_ Eames chuckled. "So disillusioned."_

_ "So are you." Arthur was surprised to see a crinkle develop in the man's brow, as if he were offended. "It takes a certain type of person to succeed in this business. The greedy, who just want more money, and those who realized that true justice can only be achieved if we take matters into our own hands, because the law never protected us when we needed it most."_

_ "So what made you lose faith in the justice the government has given you?"_

_ "Mr. Eames, you are an investment. Not my therapist."_

_ "I will not pry again."_

_ "See that you don't."_

-.-

"Very good work Officer Blake. I'm impressed," the Commissioner said.

John had finished compiling the data the night before, not bothering to go home and sleep, instead just showering and downing a pot of coffee so he wouldn't fall asleep on the job.

"I don't think we have a case," Foley said, staring at the screen. "He got in the car with that woman willingly, and his brother didn't look at all distressed when he came back out of the alley."

"Gun to his back," John said. He rewound the tape and paused it just as Jacob climbed into the car. The woman was in the process of turning around, the distinct shape of a gun in her hand. "I would get in the car too."

"And the kid?" Foley asked, finally turning to look at him.

"Suffers from extreme mental trauma. Completely depended on his brother. He'd do whatever he said in complete faith," John said.

"Oh, and you know this how?"

John's eyes narrowed. "I talked to the witnesses and their caretakers. Or rather, I did my job. These pieces were not hard to put together, you just had to have someone actually do it."

"Are you questioning how I run this place?" Foley demanded.

"Okay boys, let's calm down before you two start pulling each other's pigtails," the Commissioner interrupted. "John, good work. Did you check the license plate already?"

"Yes. Address is in the file I compiled," John said.

"Good. You and Ross can go check it out," the Commissioner said. "Foley, you can make sure there are officers ready for back up. She does have a weapon after all, can't be too careful."

"What about the other three kids though? Don't you have a _theory_ on them too?" Foley asked.

"We're wasting time arug8ing. Let's deal with this first," John said.

"He's right," the Commissioner said. "We can take care of this, and then focus on whatever else he found. Is Ross here?"

"He got in ten minutes ago," Arthur said. "We can head out there now."

"You're in charge of this one," the Commissioner said. "I want to see how you preform under pressure."

"Ross is the senior officer," Foley began.

"John's been in charge of this case from the very beginning, and he's done well. It's only right that he sees it through the end," the Commissioner said. "Any other arguments you'd like to make?"

Foley glanced away. "Don't be surprised if he fails then."

"I have the utmost faith in him. He hasn't done anything to prove that he is less than trustworthy. Set aside whatever prejudices you have so we can move on," the Commissioner ordered. His gaze seemed to soften then. "Please."

"I'm trusting your judgment on this," Foley said after half a beat. "Though I'm beginning to wonder why I still do." His gaze shifted to John before leaving the room.

Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I don't have to say it."

"I won't let you down, sir," John said. "I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

**New Chapter is here. Sorry this took so long to get out guys. Finals are coming up so I wouldn't expect another chapter until sometime after December 14th. For those of you waiting for the Peter/Matt story, it's on its way, just needs some revision. I don't own Dark Knight, your feedback is greatly appreciated, and much love to you all. **

"Did you even go home last night?" Ross asked, pulling down the street the woman's house was on.

"Yeah," John lied. "I wouldn't do a job without sleeping." He found the words absurdly funny, and that he had to force a near hysterical giggle back down into his chest was a testament to his lack of control. Arthur took a deep breath, centering himself as best he could without his totem.

"You seem like the type of person that would, not gonna lie." Ross pulled into the driveway of a rather normal looking house.

"Let's just get this over with," John said.

They both got out of the car and headed up the small path to the porch. After a quick exchanged look, John knocked on the door. A few tense moments passed, and then a petite blond woman opened the door.

It was then that Arthur realized who he was looking at. She had disguised herself well since the last time they had seen each other, worked together, well enough that Arthur's strained mind hadn't noticed when he glanced over her information after she was declared a suspect.

"Arthur? Playing at a cop now?" Her arms folded across her chest.

The woman, Sara, aged well. Arthur knew she was at least forty years old, but she looked to be just pushing thirty. She was a dream worker, so she was in brilliant shape, and she was one of the few females that kept her hair long. It was impractical, got in the way during real life fights, but Sara was similar to Arthur. She did more legwork, set the situations up for other people, only going under when necessary.

He thought she had retired, hadn't bothered to keep tabs on her. If she was the one taking the kids, it was probably a job she picked up after she retire, something simple that spanned over a long period of time, hence the multiple disappearances. Arthur wished he had his totem, something to stabilize himself so he could deal with the situation that was quickly spiraling out of his control.

"Ma'am, I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said. "But we have reason to believe you were a part of a crime. We'll just need to do a quick search of your house, nothing invasive, then we'll be out of your hair."

Sara gave a gentle smile, then opened the door wider to allow them in. "Of course."

Ross shot Arthur a look as he moved past Sara, the questions pouring from his eyes. Arthur was tense as he followed, watching her from the corner of his eye as he moved past. She closed the door, turned towards the left before whipping back. Arthur spun and caught her wrist, twisting it so when the gun went off it put a bullet in the ceiling, not Ross' back. Ross whirled around, but Arthur already had Sara subdued on the ground.

"Am I allowed to cuff her now?" Arthur asked, looking up at Ross for direction.

"No shit, hurry up," Ross said. "And get her to the car."

"Not a good idea," Arthur said. "She'll pick the locks."

"And you know this how?" Ross asked. His arms were folded across his chest, his gaze cold as he tried to analyze what had happened.

"Oh Arthur and I go way back," Sara said as Arthur hauled her upright. She glanced over her shoulder at him, batting her green eyes. "My apologies. What is it that you go by now?"

Arthur didn't give her an answer. "Where are they?"

"Basement," she said. "I won't fight, won't protest. You caught me fair and square."

Ross began to look for the basement, Arthur following with Sara between them, his grip harsh above her cuffed wrists.

"We are going to have a long talk when this is all sorted out," Ross said.

He opened the basement door, gun out and hand groping to the side for a light switch. A dim light clicked on above, but didn't provide much light down below. Ross continued down the stairs first, finding another switch and flipping it on.

"Jesus Christ," Ross said, the anger in his eyes replaced with fear.

Arthur's own blood ran cold at the sight. Scattered throughout the otherwise bare basement were 15 hospital beds, men of various ages all hooked up to the same PASIV, different medical bags pumping nutrients into them. He twisted Sara around, shoving her against the nearest wall.

"How long?"

Sara laughed, a slow sound as she slumped against the wall. "The oldest, ten years. The youngest, about two weeks."

"John, what the hell is this?" Ross demanded.

Arthur glanced over at him. "I swear, I will explain, but if we're going to save any lives, just do what I say for now."

"Oh, Point Man taking the lead. Where's your alpha run off too?" Sara asked. "Did he ditch you the moment he got his kids back, leave you to flounder on your own?"

"You know as well as I do that Point Men, especially ones like _me,_ are not lapdogs to the Extractors. What are you using to keep them under?"

"The usual. Steady stream."

"How many levels?"  
Sara grinned. "They're distraught orphans. Undoubtedly their combined shaky subconscious dropped them through enough levels to hit limbo. I haven't checked yet."

"Why?" Arthur locked the disgust coiling in his stomach down. He needed answers, and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

"Testing. 10 year long test, getting paid big bucks. Plus, it doesn't require much work so I didn't care much about the morals part. Too good a deal to pass up," she said.

Arthur released her, but didn't turn around. "Ross, get some rope to tie her up. I don't want her to try and kill us again."

"I'm listening to you for another ten minutes, but that is it." Ross moved to obey, returning barely a minute later after he found a suitable piece of twine to tie her up with.

Arthur tied her to one of the support beams, then moved over to the webbing of beds. It was impossible for the PASIV to hold anymore IVs, so he'd have to sacrifice the mind, the life, of one of the boys to go under and save the rest.

"Which one is the oldest?" Arthur asked.

"Directly to your right," Sara replied.

Arthur turned to Ross. "Still with me?"

"Amazingly, yes," his partner said.

"I'm taking this man's IV out. Chances are, he'll have a seizure and then flat line. If he does wake up by some miracle, keep him calm. If I do this right, the others will begin to wake up. Keep them calm. That is extremely important."

"Okay. Yeah. Do your thing."

"And Sara?" Arthur turned to look at her.

She crooked an eyebrow at him in response.

"Keep your mouth shut."

He gently lifted the oldest out of the hospital bed, laying him flat a safe distance from the rest. Then, he removed the IV, wiping it on his sleeve. Normally, he'd clean the needle, but it wasn't exactly like he had time.

"If I'm not awake in 10 minutes, call for an ambulance." Arthur set a timer on the PASIV, which had been running without one before. He didn't wait for Ross' response, instead sticking the IV and letting himself go under.

-.-

It wasn't surprising that the limbo built by fifteen orphans from the same place was a distorted version of the orphanage. What was odd was the way fourteen men, some middle aged, some in about their thirties, and one looking so old he looked half dead, were all sitting in the same room. They all looked up at him when he stumbled in.

The room was similar to the game room at the orphanage, the ratty couches with tears in the fabric just the same as he remembered. All fourteen of the men sat throughout the room, but the youngest was the one who had a reaction other than confusion.

He was lanky, his brown hair a mess of curls, a Jacob in possibly his mid twenties. "You...you were at the orphanage. You were talking to Mark."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I'm John. I'm here to help you guys out. You...you realize you're dreaming right?"

"Of course." The voice belonged to the oldest man, his gaze fixed out the window, which to Arthur's eyes was just pale blue sky. "No one has the power we do, not in the real world. We are not so disillusioned as to believe this paradise is reality. "

There were a few uneasy murmurs, but then attention was drawn back to Arthur. The Point Man swallowed thickly, eyes darting over each of them. He had never dealt with Limbo before; that had been Dom and Ariadne's whole deal. He didn't know if they had to make the choice to leave Limbo or if they would wake up simply from him shooting them in the head. Best to play it safe.

"Alright, I need an honest answer from all of you. If you want to return to reality...raise your hand," he ordered.

Jacob's hand shot up first, then the others, one by one until finally it was just the eldest man, gaze still fixed out the window. Arthur gave a short nod at the others.

"But who are you?" one of the men asked. "How do you know how to get us out of this...mess? We've been trapped here for years, we've tried everything."

Arthur reached to his holster, where he kept it strapped back before he became a cop and drew his gun. "You haven't tried dying yet. You have to make the conscious decision to leave this behind and move on back to reality."

"We have to shoot ourselves in the head?" the same man asked, disbelief in his voice.

"I do this for a living, trust me. I know that...down here reality has been distorted, you might be thinking I'm just another projection of your subconscious. You'll just have to trust me when I say that I'm not." He handed the gun to Jacob. "We don't have much time."

"You're asking me to shoot myself," Jacob said. "What happens when I wake up?"  
Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. You've all been under longer than anyone I've ever met. But hopefully you'll be fine."

"Hopefully?" Arthur didn't bother to look at the speaker.

"Well what do you want? Do you want to stay here? Either you take this chance or you consign to let your body on the surface die and your mind rot," Arthur said. "I want to save all of you but if I can only save one...fine."

"I'm done with this," Jacob said with a shake of his head.

Arthur glanced at him, their eyes meeting for a quick second before the gunshot rang out. He disappeared before the bullet finished going through his head. Arthur lunged forward, catching the gun before it could finish reaching the ground, and handed it to the nearest man. "Make your own decisions."

It was chilling to watch each man take the gun, firing off a single shot. It made something clench hard in Arthur's stomach as he hoped and prayed for them to make it back to the surface alright. And finally...finally it was just him and the last man.

He sat beside him on the couch. "Do you want to go back to the surface?"

The man looked at him, and for a moment, it was like he was meeting Dom for the first time all over again. Staring into old eyes, eyes that had seen more than a hundred years go by even though the physical body did not change. "I have been down here for many years. Longer than any of...of the others. There was one older than me but he...vanished a few days ago."

"He's...going to wake up on the surface, I think. I'm not sure. I didn't awaken him the same way the rest of you will. There's a good chance he won't make it," Arthur said honestly.

"And me?" The man smiled, and then glanced away from him, staring out the window. "I do not have a good chance either. Even if I do wake up...it will only to be a bullet in my real brain. I have lived...much too long."

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to," Arthur said.

"I do not even remember who I am."

Arthur swallowed, ignoring the chill that crawled down his back at the words. He wanted to ask the man to stop, but the words stopped in his throat.

"I do not remember my name, my family, anyone I knew. I am no longer human, as I have no memories. I have been around so long that I know this is not reality, but I cannot bring myself to care. If I were to return to this surface as you say, I do not think I would be able to live, because I would have no identity to keep me moving forward."

"You could always make one," Arthur said quietly. "You've aged no more than ten years on the surface. You could start over."

"Is that what you would do?" the man asked with a short laugh.

Arthur frowned, and it must have been enough of a response, for the man continued to talk.

"Perhaps you have a chance to remake yourself into something whole, but I do not." The man's eyes met his once more, a misty, haunted blue color. "Leave me here. Then no one will have to put me out of my misery."

"If that's what you want," Arthur said quietly. He stood up, picking the gun up off the floor and raising it to his own head.

"Just one thing," the man said, his gaze returning to the window once more. "What is your name? I would like to know the name of the man who brought me true peace."

Arthur swallowed. "My name is Robin John Blake."

A small smile formed on the man's lips. "No it is not. Not yet. You have not let your past go quite yet. You have a long way to go until you become Robin John Blake, Arthur."

"I didn't tell you my name," Arthur said.

"You forget. Though there was one older than I, I was the first to reach this place. I can see everything, I can see your mind, your thoughts, playing like a picture in my head. I suppose you gain certain abilities once you've been around as long as I have." He took a deep breath. "Back to the surface you go, Arthur. Don't lose track of reality. Never forget where you began, never revoke what you experienced. You cannot run from yourself forever."

"I..."

There was a loud crack, and the walls around him began to splinter, bits of plaster from the ceiling falling down around them. "This is not Limbo. I have protected the others with my subconscious, holding together their frayed minds so that they would not slip down any farther. If they had just died...they would have woken up. They would not be trapped. But I cannot hold this any longer. I have no reason to."

"I've never heard of anyone doing that," Arthur said, eyes widening as he contemplated just what it meant.

"No one has been trapped in a dream as long as I have. If you do not wish to fall into Limbo, I suggest you go now."

"You have to teach-"

The floor beneath his feet began to splinter and crack open.

"Go. Now."

Arthur raised the gun to his head and obeyed.

-.-

He came awake with a heaving gasp, choking on air as he tried to draw breath into his lungs. He was dimly aware of hands pushing him back into a lying down position, and when his vision finally refocused, he realized he was staring up into Ross' eyes.

"Jesus, John, are you okay?" Ross asked.

"The kids," John said, shoving Ross away. "Are they okay?"

He turned to see that Ross had them all lined up along the wall, all in various states of distress, with Jacob the worst, sobbing and shuddering in the grip of a slightly older boy. Tension eased out of him, at least until he turned back and saw the body that belonged to the man who had decided to die.

"What about him?" Ross asked. "Is he going to wake up like the others?"

"No," John said. "He's staying. He...he doesn't want to wake up."

"So what, he's going to die?"

"He's letting himself fall into Limbo. He won't wake up," Arthur said. "I could go back down and try and drag him up, but I have a feeling that wouldn't work."

"You aren't making a lick of sense, and I just called the ambulance," Ross said. "All those boys are going into shock, two of them had seizures. And I think you're going into shock too."

"Wait!" Sara's voice grabbed both Ross and Arthur's attention and they looked towards her. "They weren't in Limbo? How?"

"That guy," Arthur said, pointing to the still sleeping man. "He...he used his mind as a shield against Limbo when the others' minds began to fray. Normally the barriers would erode over time and you'd keep slipping lower and lower if there's no timer on the PASIV but he...he found a way to stop it."

"Impossible," Sara hissed, struggling against her binds. "You have a timer on it now, he should wake up."

"No, he won't," Arthur said with a shake of his head. "He told me he was going to let himself drop down into Limbo."

"Then it was a success," Sara said, grinning. "Sure, you can disagree with our methods all you like, Arthur, but my employer...oh he was right. He was sure that if someone was forced to stay in the dream state long enough they would be capable of great things. I didn't believe him but...you were right. Now we just have to force him to wake up and-"

"Ma'am, you can stop your senseless babbling any time because you are not going anywhere but jail," Ross said, getting to his feet.

"Oh but someone will find him," Sara said. "If he's in Limbo, as long as we keep his physical body in perfect condition, he can wake up, and when he does...he'll be the most powerful dream worker on the planet."

"He doesn't want that," Arthur said. "I'm not going to let anyone turn him into a weapon."

"You don't have a choice," Sara growled, trying to get to her feet only to have Ross push her back down. "You'll see, someone will find him. And I've destroyed your credibility as a cop, it's not like anyone will listen to you. They'll put him in some hospital, and my employer, he'll find him, drag him back into the land of the living."

She was practically shivering from delight and Arthur turned away from her, disgusted.

"John, or whatever your name is," Ross said, turning away from Sara and the kids. "What am I putting in the debriefing paper?"

Arthur looked up at him. "The truth, I guess. I...I kind of realized as soon as Sara started talking that I was going to lose my job. You aren't the type of guy to lie on reports to save someone, I know that."

"You saved the lives of thirteen boys I was about to declare dead," Ross said. "That...that warrants you a chance for explanation, to me and to Commissioner Gordon, and Chief Foley."

"Foley already knows," Arthur said.

Ross shook his head, a bitter smile on his face. "Figures. But me and Gordon? You owe it to us. I'll put some bullshit about the kids waking up once we unhooked them, but the other two didn't make it."

"His body is still alive," Arthur said, pointing at the other man. "If we unplug him, he'll probably die like the other one."

"And if he wakes up?" Ross asked.

"He won't," Arthur said. "Just unplug him."

If anyone deserved rest, it was the unnamed hero.

-.-

Arthur didn't honestly know what Ross and Gordon expected from him. It wasn't like he wanted to tell them about dream sharing, but for them to overlook the way the whole situation had turned into utter shit...he supposed it was worth it. Which was why he was sitting in a small diner near the police station with Ross and Gordon sitting across from him, coffees in between them.

"So this is all staying off the record?" Arthur brought his coffee mug to his lips, taking a long gulp.

"All of it," Gordon assured. "Sara Lane has been declared mentally unfit, and the fact that all those boys woke up...well, we're chalking it up to a medical miracle. We just want to know the truth so we aren't confused if it ever happens again."

"First, her name isn't Sara Lane. It's actually Mary Leddy," Arthur said. "You'll find that out when you check her blood record. To my knowledge, she's died six times, so seven different identities should pop up. It's why dream workers don't go to the hospital if we can avoid it."

Ross and Gordon exchanged a look before waiting for him to continue.

"I used to be a dream worker. I was in the business of stealing ideas, the same as Sara was. I wanted out, and one of my contacts knew Foley, so he got me in here," Arthur said. "That thing you saw, Ross? It's called a PASIV. It's what allows us to remain lucid in the dream. From what she said, I'd say Sara was running a long-term experiment for someone, though I'm not sure who."

"You know, I'd say you're crazy, but I saw what you did," Ross said with a slow shake of his head.

"Does the government know about this device?" Gordon asked.

"It originated there, so yes," Arthur said. "The CIA will probably send some agents to pick it up once you file a report." He looked away from both of them, staring down into his mug. "Look, I'm trying to leave that life behind. I'll answer your questions, but I want to stay away from going back. I went under because I knew I could save those kids. I won't do it again."

"Not even if it will save lives?" Gordon asked.

"I can't," Arthur said firmly, looking back up at him. "I'm sorry."

"Well. This has been...enlightening," Gordon said. "And Foley already knows about this?"

Arthur nodded.

"Guess that explains why he doesn't trust you," Gordon mused. "But oddly enough, I still do. I know you'll do the right thing in the end; your actions over the last few months prove that. I won't judge you for your past."

"Same here," Ross said. "I'm pissed you hid it this long, but I guess...you're my partner. And you've shown me how smart you are and I know you can do a good job. You're fine in my book."

"Thank you," Arthur said quietly. It was far more than what he thought he deserved from either man.

"Can you find out who hired this woman?" Gordon asked.

"The CIA has people. They'll take care of it," Arthur said. "Not for local forces to take care of, you're not trained for it."

"How did you get training?" Ross asked.

"I have skills that attracted the attention of some dream workers but I really don't walk to talk about this here," Arthur said, gesturing around.

Gordon gave a small nod and a smile. "That is understandable. Take the day off you two. I'm going to talk to Foley about possible raises for you both. You've done a good job."

"Thank you sir."

-.-

When Arthur got back to his apartment, his exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him, but he didn't want to sleep. Couldn't afford to without his totem. Hell, he shouldn't have gone under without his totem in the first place. He collapsed back onto the couch with a sigh and pulled out his phone, thumbs instinctively seeking out Eames' number. For a moment, he contemplated using the man's voicemail as his totem, but then there was a soft click only two rings in.

"Hello darling."

Arthur nearly dropped the phone. "Eames? Oh God, I'm still dreaming aren't I?"

"No, no, no darling, I'm real."

"Then why haven't you answered? Why did you leave me to struggle _years_ without you?" Anger warred with the exhaustion, beating out any other feeling; relief, love, happiness.

"You can't honestly think the world's best Point Man can go into retirement with no fuss. I heard through the grapevine you lost your totem though, saw it up for sale on one of the markets. Figured I'd be hearing from you soon. Dreamers can't function long without their totems after all, and I don't like the idea of you being a risk to yourself."

There was a lot of information to process in that, but Arthur latched onto only one part. "So you didn't answer until now because I wasn't what? A risk to myself? God dammit, Eames, I've been a risk to myself since you left." He clenched his jaw tight. Part of him still screamed to grab his gun and just end it. Speaking with Eames again had been nothing but a dream for so long, it wouldn't be a surprise for him to be trapped in a one. "What do you care about my totem being for sale anyways?"

"Whoever took it is selling the thing for a very interesting price. A lot of people are scrabbling to get their hands on the Point Man's only weakness."

"What's the price?"

"Erase the seller's past. Right up your alley. You should buy it back before someone else does."

"Just hang up the phone," Arthur said. "This conversation is next to pointless anyways. I'm just dreaming."

"So what? Just going to put a bullet in your head? What if you're wrong?"

"How can I be? You're speaking with me. There's a way to get my totem back. What part of this isn't too good to be true?" Arthur reached to his holster and pulled his gun out, clicking the safety off. "Lovely talk Eames, but you're not real."

He shut his phone and tossed it on the couch, then raised the gun up to his temple. Only to have an arm wrap around his neck and the gun ripped from his grasp. He fought against the grip but he was quickly released and when he got to his feet and turned, he was surprised to see Catwoman in front of him. Her eyes were cold as she reached across the couch and shoved a cloth wrapped bundle back into his hand.

"I was warned you were likely to get suicidal without this thing. You're my best chance at a new life. I'm not throwing you away. I'm not letting you throw yourself away," she said softly. She flicked her mask up, and Arthur registered her full beauty for the first time, her dark brown eyes full of regret. "I didn't realize it was that important."

Regret or no, Arthur was still beyond furious. "Get the hell out or I'll shoot you. You ruined your chance of me _ever_ helping you. So get. Out."

Her jaw clenched, muscle spasming in her cheek. "Fine. But don't say I never did anything for you. I could have sold it. I was going to but then someone...someone said it was in my best interest to return it. So I did."

"You were threatened to give my totem _back_?" Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "By who?"  
The woman relaxed marginally, easing back towards the window. "A girl's gotta have some secrets. Maybe we can set up a trade though. My secrets for a new identity."

"You have a lot of nerve, don't you?" Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know who's powerful enough to threaten _you _of all people, but apparently he's on my side. So forgive me if working with you at _all _continues to look unappetizing." He began to walk around the couch, picking up the discarded gun as he went. "So why are you still here?" He looked back up at her.

She looked like she wanted to reply, but then she darted through the window and vanished. Arthur clicked the safety on and set the gun down on the end table before opening the cloth and tipping the die into his hand. His heart pounded loud in his ears as he moved towards the kitchen table. If he rolled it and it landed on a three, it would mean he was in reality, it would mean Eames had actually answered the phone, that the only thing stopping him from answering the phone was that he didn't _want _to talk to Arthur. That hurt more than the idea that he was still trapped in a dream.

He rolled the die across the wooden table, counted the three little white dots that landed face up.

Arthur had been known for being a stick in the mud, for always being in perfect control, and it was only his close friends that knew how close to spiraling completely out of control he was. Normally, realizing he was in reality was a relief, but never had he wished so vehemently that he was dreaming. That Eames long-term rejection _wasn't _on purpose, but it was, and he was stuck in painful, harsh reality.

For a moment, he wanted to grab his phone and call Eames again, beg him to come back, or at least explain why he left for so long without a single word. Instead, when he grabbed the phone once more, clutching the die so tight in his other hand that he was sure it was leaving a permanent imprint on his palm, he found Eames number and hit delete. And just for good measure, he threw the phone out the window.


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter wrote itself after nearly a month of nothing. I really hope you guys like it. This is the first huge turning point, with a few surprises I hope you didn't see coming :P Feedback is loved. Also I got a tumblr that I will try and post updates about stories as well as random fan things that I see and like. It's schizzar . tumblr . com so if you're interested, go follow there. Once I get some followers I'll start posting more and I'll answer any questions you guys have! Thanks so much, enjoy.**

"I'm getting promoted?"

"Against my better judgment, yes," Foley said, straightening a pile of papers on his desk so he could avoid John's gaze. "The Commissioner, and your partner, are calling for your promotion to detective, and after the story of how you rescued those boys who had been kidnapped for so long got out..." He shrugged. "So, you're being promoted."

"I can start my own cases now?" John asked.

"With the Commissioner's permission, yes," Foley said. "So eager to chase down a lead?"

"I have a few things I want to look into," John said.

"Does this have to do with Bane again?" Foley asked, eyes narrowing as he looked at John once more.

"You know it does," John said. "And I don't know why you won't open your own damn investigation, so if you don't, I will."

"If you want to waste valuable resources and time, by all means, go ahead," Foley said. "But don't be disappointed when you find nothing, and don't blame me if you docked pay for leading our men on a wild goose chase."

"It won't be a waste," John said.

"Good luck getting permission from the Commissioner then," Foley said with a flat smile. "Have a good day."

"You too, sir," John said, giving the same smile back before standing up and walking out the door.

He palmed the red die in his pocket as he headed for the Commissioner's office. Every once in awhile, traitorous thoughts of his phone conversation with Eames would drift back into his mind, and he would shove them roughly away, down beneath a layer of numb scar tissue he had forgotten existed. He blamed Eames for that.

Back when it had begun to happen, he had ignored it. Pretended Eames wasn't wearing down his protective walls with his constant presence and steady warmth, but he had. It wasn't until he needed those walls more than anything that he realized how weak they had become. John was not unused to feeling numb. It was better to shove the anger away and be numb, wear a mask of happiness, than to burn from the inside out, and while his walls had been worn away, he hadn't forgotten the art of repression.

But he still couldn't help but palm the red die for a sense of security.

Gordon smiled when John let himself into the man's office. "I heard Foley was going to finally promote you."

"No thanks to you," John said, smiling back as he sat down in the chair across from him. "He said I have to get permission from you to open up an investigation of my own though, so...here I am."

"Eager then?" Gordon asked. He leaned forward, elbows propped up on the desk. "So what is it you care to investigate?"

"Bane, and his presence in Gotham," John said. "The other three boys from the orphanage disappeared because of him, I know it. I want to take a few men down and see if I'm right."

Gordon shook his head, frowning. "I don't know why those boys keep washing up in the outflows, but Bane isn't here, John. That's all rumors from bored citizens."

Anger burned deep in his gut again before he shoved it away. "Fine. I just wish you would trust me on this. I was right about the kids, I knew how to save them. You have to give me some allowance on this."

"I don't have to do anything of the sort," Gordon said. "You were a great help, and your past makes you an invaluable asset to the GPD, but I can't just let you start chasing down smoke."

"It's not a rumor, sir," John said, despite knowing it was futile to argue.

"Let's start you on something small for now, alright? I know you're a capable young man and you've helped me plenty on some of my own cases. But we need to take baby steps. I can't let you bend the rules."

"Yes, sir."

Gordon pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk. "Then why don't you take a look at this and see what you can make of it."

-.-

John stepped into the apartment, resisting the urge to punch the wall or maybe smash a lamp as he shut the door and locked it behind him. Before he could seriously contemplate either of those things, he realized he was not standing alone in his living room.

He flicked the light on, revealing Batman standing by the window once more. "You ever going to just talk to me like a normal human being?"

"We're going somewhere tonight," he said, turning to look at John.

"Oh? Didn't think to, I don't know, ask?" John asked, tossing his keys on the end table and heading past the hero towards the kitchen.

"I spoke with Gordon. He says even though you were promoted they aren't too keen on letting you take your own case yet. But we need to move now," Batman said, following after him. "Some things have come up."

John opened up the fridge and grabbed the carton of orange juice, pouring himself a glass before leaning against the counter and taking a sip. "What do you mean?"

"Bane. He's in Gotham, and I know where to find him," Batman said. "Or rather we have a mutual friend willing to show me where I can find him. I want you to come with us."

John raised an eyebrow. "Why? I'm not as good as you in a fight."

"No, but you were a dream worker. I did my research," Batman said. "And I have Gordon bugged."

Arthur slammed the glass down, his gun out and pointed at Batman before he could think. "Get out."

"Come with us," Batman said. "As I said, I did my research. Most of you are trained in some form of combat, and are good interrogators. You aren't getting anywhere by working with the police, and you know it. You can be useful if you come with us."

"No, I go with you, and everything will get messed up," Arthur said. Emotion was leaking into his voice, making it tremble. There was too much at once, and he couldn't keep a lid on it. "I've tried being a vigilante or whatever you want to call it. It doesn't work."

"What doesn't work, is the police," Batman said, stepping closer regardless of the gun. "And you know it, and you can keep lying to yourself, or you can come with us and capture Bane now."

His hand shook almost as bad as his voice, but finally, he lowered the gun and slid it back into his holster. Batman was right. He was a good interrogator, and he'd be able to hold his own, mostly, down in the sewers. Up against Bane, no, but he knew what the Batman could do.

"Who's the mutual friend?" he asked after a moment, grabbing the glass again and taking another sip of his drink.

"Selina Kyle. You've met her. Catwoman," Batman said.

John's hand tightened on the glass. "Yeah, we've met. Can't say she's on my favorite person list right now."

"She's a good fighter, and she has an in with Bane's group. She knows where to find them," Batman said.

"Could be a trap," John said. "She's not exactly trustworthy." Even if she had brought back his totem.

"Could be. I'm willing to take that risk. Are you coming with me or not?"

"Wait for me," John said, slipping past him towards the bedroom.

He shut the door, pulled up the floorboard to find his old gun, the one he trusted. Once that was on the bed, he shrugged out of his police uniform, leaving the bulletproof vest on before pulling out once of his suits. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it in what he was most comfortable in. His eyes drifted towards the hair gel, but he resisted the urge to slick it back. He was John, not Arthur. He was John with all of Arthur's experience, and none of his faults. He had to be. Eames had left him, with no reason. Arthur was a broken individual incapable of being loved. He had to be someone else if he was going to be strong.

When he re-emerged, Batman gave him a once over. "You're going to fight in that?"

John slid the gun into his suit jacket pocket. "You're going to want me at my best, so yes."

"Don't use the gun," he added. "I don't use guns. I don't believe in killing."

"That's stupid."

"You fight with me, you use my rules," he said firmly.

"Alright, but I'm keeping it on me. If I shoot anyone, I won't let it be lethal. Deal?"

"Good enough. Now follow me."

-.-

John didn't follow Batman directly, instead finding a sewer hole to drop down through and meeting up with him. He didn't think too hard about what he was doing, because if he did, he knew he would flee back up to the surface and cram himself into the role of a cop, suppress his anger, white wash everything with a blinding numbness. Following behind Batman in the darkened sewer, gun at his hip with adrenaline thrumming through him made him feel more useful, more alive, than he had in a long time.

Catwoman bled out of the shadows ahead of them, a small smile breaking out over her lips. "Oh hello, Arthur. Fancy seeing you here."

"It's John," he replied, voice clipped. "I don't like that you're here, so let's just be quick about this."

"I don't know if this is your kind of gig, love," she said, slipping past Batman to sidle up close to him. "You're a good fighter, but this is all about sneaking in the shadows. You know nothing of the shadows."

"Maybe not, but Gotham is my home, whether I like it or not, and I'll do what I can to fix whatever is killing the kids that are taken here," John said. "Now. Lead." He shoved her away lightly by her shoulders.

She sauntered towards the front and began leading them. "They'll fight us the whole way there. Bane's fighters are all men of the shadows, so be prepared for a fight."

She wasn't lying. John lost track of the two fighters the deeper into the sewers they went, following the echoes of fighting and gunshots, his own gun out. He never had to use it though, only having to deliver the occasional swift kick to the head of a man struggling back to his feet after Catwoman and Batman had left him in the dust.

It made him jealous, their fluidity. He didn't know if they worked together often or if this was a first, but the way they seemed to read one another reminded him of the dynamic between himself and Eames, a type of twisted love in every move as they knocked their enemies down one by one. He wondered if she would betray them as harshly as Eames had betrayed him.

He had to shove the thoughts away once more and focus, straining his eyes to look for any enemies Batman or Selina might have missed while traveling through the sewers. The tunnel began to brighten, and the sound of rushing water grew louder and louder the further they went. Before long, Selina and Batman had faded back to walk just in front of him, and a moment later, they rounded a corner that opened up into a cavernous room, metal cages and walkways twisting across the sewage outflow.

John paused, but the other two didn't notice, continuing on and heading for a walkway that carried them across the outflow. Batman stepped out first, but Selina lingered by the edge, before stepping back completely and running her hand down the side of one of the metal poles. A clang echoed through out the air, and a metal door slid shut between her and the Batman.

John rushed forward, only to have a hand reach out from the dark and slam him against the wall, twisting his wrist until he dropped his gun. Selina whirled around and began striding towards him as he fought against his attacker, kicking back and lashing at the man's nose with his head.

Selina reached him a heartbeat later, ripping him away from the man only to slam him to the ground, tugging his arms up behind his back and tying them tight with a zip tie.

"I knew it," he hissed, twisting under her harsh grip. "You betrayed us both."

"I have orders honey," she said quietly, leaning down so her lips were caressing his ear. "And since you wouldn't help me, I had to go somewhere else. They only asked for the Batman. You're just a bonus."

"Selina, let him go. I think he needs to see something."

John froze, blood running to ice as Selina stood up and released him. A strong, yet small hand grabbed his wrists and hauled him to his feet, turning him around so he could see the owner of the voice.

She was as lovely as he remembered, her hair curled in loose waves and falling over her bare shoulders. Her pale skin stood out like white marble against the deep black of her dress, her lips painted a deep shade of red that matched her nails. She was a woman of elegance and beauty, a woman any sane man would fall for, would die for.

"Mal...you're dead."

"Obviously not, dear. But then again, I was never Mal to begin with," she whispered, smiling as she reached out and cradled his cheek in her hand. "Imagine my surprise when Bane spoke of running into you in the sewer. Said little Arthur had found his way into Gotham." Her thumb ran over his lips. "Disguised himself as a cop. I just couldn't have that."

She patted his cheek lightly. "No, you would ruin everything if I left you to your own devices for too long. So I had Selina take your totem and promised if she handed it over, I would give her a new life. She decided to try and sell it instead, and then gave it back to you. Why I do not know but once again you became a problem. The same goes for Bruce Wayne though. The two of you make quite a pair you know."

"Mal, you...you died," Arthur said. "Dom and I, we mourned for you."

"Dom?" Mal asked, an eyebrow raising. "That man was a fool, but a brilliant teacher. Easy to manipulate."

"Manipulate for what?" Arthur demanded, starting forward. "Mal, you aren't making any sense!"

Mal backed up and flicked a hand. A man emerged from the shadows, handcuffs flashing in the dim light, and a moment later he was cuffed to the metal railing. "I needed someone to teach me how to walk within the dreams of my enemies so I could gain information. I found Dom, and you. I learned so many useful things."

"He loved you! You married him!" Arthur growled, twisting against the railing. "Was that all fake? Did you even care about us at all?"

"Of course not," she said, arms folding over her chest, red nails tapping against her upper arm. "You were tools, a means to an end. My research took awhile, and I needed an identity that would work for a long period of time. Dom, wonderful emotional, deep feeling Dom. Dom with the reputation of the best extractor the dream world had ever seen. He was perfect. Easy to manipulate and create a new life with, and easy to fake a death he would accept."

Arthur could feel his head spinning, his chest constricting as panic inducing confusion began to sweep over him. Everything was a lie. One of his closest allies had been a fake, a woman capable of the ultimate manipulation. But for what? What purpose did she have in Gotham, and just how long had she been working towards it?

"No more questions right now, love. You have to see something first," Mal said. "Turn around, and watch your hero fall."

Arthur jerked around just in time to see Bane bleed out of the shadows and stride across the metal walk way towards Batman. He could hear their muffled voices, but a moment later they were fighting, moving faster than he could track accurately. Mal pressed up against his back so his bound hands were pressed to her stomach. "I'm sure if you watch long enough, you'll be able to see the truth." Her chin rested on his shoulder. "You always were a smart one. Too smart for your own good."

"What are you doing this for? Why Batman? Why here?" he asked, the words pouring out faster than he could think them through. The appearance of Mal, a woman he thought dead for years was the catalyst, tearing down his remaining walls until he was nothing but a mess of tangled thoughts and emotions. It was terrifying.

"I'll answer all your questions, love, but for now, watch and tell me what you see," she murmured.

Arthur swallowed thickly and obeyed, watching as Bane flipped Batman over his head, smashing him down on the walkway. It shuddered under the force and weight, and then Bane was on top of the man, ripping the mask off and tossing it further up the walk way. He rocked back onto his feet, the hulking form moving faster than he thought would be possible.

Without the mask, Arthur could clearly see Bruce's face, bruised and cut from the harsh punches, but before he could further process the information, Bane had snatched him up, lifting him over his head before bringing him crashing down over his knee. The sickening crack made his stomach churn as hero was dropped onto the metal walk way.

"What..."

"Watch," Mal hissed into his ear. "Watch as Gotham's last true light of hope goes out, right under their noses, the light they could never even see. And see for yourself what you will not be able to stop."

Bane stepped back, but Bruce did not stir. He was panting, huge breaths that made his shoulders ripple. The large man turned towards them, eyes seeking out Mal before sliding down towards Arthur, widening.

And in the dim light, Arthur recognized the look. It was a look he had been accustomed to seeing back when he was still working with dreams. A look he always saw before it was abruptly covered by a blustering smile or a frown, depending on the job, or how the man was feeling. The look that said, _we're safe, I'm safe, we're together. _It was a look that made his heart drop to his stomach and his legs give out, knees smacking against the railing as his shoulders jerked painfully from the cuffs trying to hold him up.

Mal's cruel laugh in his ears made his heart throb, but worst of all was the way the look he used to find so comforting vanished under a mask of cold ice, the feeling leaching from what Arthur could see of the man's face.

"Poor Arthur. He can't even keep a grip on reality anymore," Mal said. "And you thought you could do good as a cop? You could barely help anyone as a Point Man. The man of ice, melting slowly, hindered by his own emotions, that's what you were. A man with no allies, a man who ran away from his life to Gotham. Ran way to try and do some good in the world, only to find lies and betrayals waiting for him. Oh Arthur...you were always so fun."

"Eames. Eames," Arthur whispered, the man's name falling from his lips.

Bane did not turn back towards them, instead hefting Bruce's broken form over his shoulder and heading across the walkway. Even after his voice raised to a hysterical pitch, screaming the man's name until it was a never-ending echo around the cavern and inside his head, the man did not even spare him a glance.

-.-

_"I have a truly sordid past, darling, you don't want to hear about it," Eames said as he set down Arthur's mug of coffee, sliding the newspaper across the table for him. _

_ "I told you nearly everything last night," Arthur said with a disgruntled look, a hint of a pout breaking free, a pout he knew Eames had a hard time resisting. _

_ "There are some things in my past that would...you would find them utterly repulsive. I am happier with you not knowing. If I could have it my way, you'd never find out the truth." There was a bitterness to Eames voice that made Arthur's chest feel tight, but when he looked at the Forger, the man was moving back towards the coffee pot, back turned. _

_ "At least tell me where you got the scar," Arthur said. "The one on your back, along your spine."_

_ "That...that is a story I do not plan to ever tell." Eames was tense, he could see it in the line of his shoulders. _

_ "I'm sorry. For pushing."_

_ "It's alright, love. Just stop asking. We're both happier that way."_


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey! It's a new chapter. I have a tumblr for when I fanboy about things, and there will also be the occasional update about stories I am working on. Username is the same there as it is here, so just type in schizzar before tumblr and ta-dah. I hope you like the new chapter, I struggled a lot with what I wanted to do. Enjoy. I don't own Batman. Reviews are loved. **

Arthur woke dying of thirst with the muscles in his shoulders cramping from the way he hung from the wall by frayed rope. His toes barely scraped the floor, and his surroundings were bathed entirely in darkness, blinding him. His ears picked up on the dull roar of rushing water, which meant he was still trapped under the sewers and the nightmare had been all too real. A stab of panic made him thrash within his binds but after a moment, he stilled, trying to gather his thoughts together.

The reality, the life of Arthur, had been thoroughly dismantled with the speed of a rug being ripped out from beneath him. What little control he had held over his life was all but gone. If he wanted to think clearly enough to get away, he couldn't afford to be bogged down by Arthur's baggage. For the first time since he had come to Gotham, it was John who would carry him through.

The clanking sound of a door opening broke him out of his thoughts, light streaming in through the doorway. Heels clicked across the cement, the door swung shut, and a moment later, dim lights flickered on near the door. Enough light was provided for him to see Mal standing across from him, arms folded across her chest.

"This was honestly a surprise, Arthur dear," she said. "I didn't think Selina would be able to get the Batman and my renegade Point Man."

Arthur didn't let his expression waver, instead staring down at her as she paused a mere two inches from him. "I'm not your Point Man. I've never been your Point Man."

"Anything of Dom's is mine," Mal said. Her fingers walked up his chest to his jaw, cupping it in her soft hand. "You took such good care of us, and you taught Bane so much."

"So it's true?" _I'm not crazy? _"Eames? He's been Bane all along?"

"Of course. The drugs used in dream-sharing did wonders for him, made it possible for him to walk without the mask. Temporary of course. After awhile, it didn't work as well, and once he returned to me...the mask also had to be returned," she said. Her hand slid up to push a stray lock of hair back into place. "You were such a good influence, though. At first."

"At first?"

Mal stepped back, expression full of an anger he had only ever seen in Dom's projections of her. It made something in his heart ache to see her face twist into such a furious snarl. "And then you almost ruined everything. You almost ruined _my_ protector. And that, Arthur...that is unforgivable."

She moved then, hand whipping across his face so fast his head snapped to the left, fiery trails in his cheek burning where her nails had sunken in. "He was mine but with you...he questioned his loyalty to our cause, to me. He, who was raised in the darkness, who knows better than to dare see the light and _hope_, nearly ruined everything. And all because of _you_."

She stepped away from the dangling Point Man, turning her back on him. Her fists clenched at her sides, and for a moment, Arthur almost thought she was shuddering from her barely suppressed rage. "He left you and I thought perhaps that was the end of it. But then I hear that you merely followed him here, and that you began to dig around in one of my experiments. You're more trouble than you're worth, Arthur, and I will show him that I am right."

"Mal?"

The woman did not turn. "Mal was just a mask, Arthur. You know all about those, don't you?"

"You know I do." Arthur hated the way his voice sounded. It was the voice of a wounded animal, unable to accept its situation and longing for the comfort of familiarity.

But what did a man, who wore so many names and identities, count as familiar?

She opened the door and poked her head out. "Bring me Bane."

"So if Mal isn't your real name, what is?" Arthur asked. He didn't want to know why she was bringing Eames...or Bane into the room.

"Talia." She turned to look at him. "You know, I'm surprised you did not see through my identity. It was not well constructed."

"I gave it a cursory glance. Dom said he had already looked it over. I trusted his judgment."

"You should never trust the judgment of a man blinded by love and hope. They are life's two greatest lies, after all. I always thought you were too sensible to be fooled the way Dom was, but apparently Eames was much too good at manipulating your heart." She stepped closer, a smirk twisting her lips up. "Odd, that. The world's greatest Point Man. Everyone said he was a machine, and we come to find out that he has a heart to be manipulated just as any other man. Disappointing."

The door opened again and Bane stepped through. Arthur felt his gaze flick up, taking in the man's strong form. The man's shoulders were bare, no trace of the tattoos Arthur had been so used to seeing, tracing with his tongue. If not for the eyes, Arthur didn't think he would identify him as Eames at all. But the eyes, he could never forget them, not even in the dim light.

"Bane," Talia said, turning to look at him. "I have brought your toy. Your mentor in the world of espionage. He does not look so mighty to you as he once did, does he?"

"He has not changed." The voice, even through the mechanized mask, was still Eames. Arthur's heart jolted and he tore his gaze away, staring at the ground.

"Tell me, Bane, do you still long for the life you built with this man?" Talia asked.

Arthur's gaze turned to her, eyes widening a bit when she drew a knife from a strap on her thigh. When he glanced at Eames though, a plea in his eyes, he was met with a stony expression.

"No. He was a puppet, nothing more," Eames said.

"Really?" Arthur felt an anger burning in his chest at the dismissal. He had been tossed around, ignored, manipulated enough by the man, and yet he had never fully rejected him, always hoping that Eames would come back and love him the way he once had. "So all those times you told me you loved me? All the dreams we shared? All of it was a lie, meaningless?" He shook his head. "You're lying."

Talia smiled, stepping closer. "I happen to think you're right Arthur. You have offered Bane a beacon of hope he knows better than to believe in. It is best we teach him now that what he once shared with you can never be had again, no?"

"Talia," Eames said, his voice a low rumble.

Her expression hardened. "Bane. You need to be a taught a lesson. And so I will teach it, and you will watch. It is a lesson I did not think I would have to teach you, it is a lesson you once taught me." She glanced over her shoulder. "This man has made you question your resolve, Bane. I will not stand for it. I will crush this last ray of hope that makes you question me, and then...then we can move forward."

She turned back to Arthur, pressing up against him as her knife trailed over the side of his throat. "I have longed to do this to you, my love. Break you apart and see what makes you tick. Now, I have that chance. And once you are finally scattered all over this floor for us all to see, Bane will realize just how pitiful, how _worthless_ you truly are. And when he is disgusted with what he sees, I will let him deliver the final blow."

The knife twirled then, slicing down his collarbone and tearing through flesh and the fabric of his shirt. Arthur twisted in his bonds, biting back against his own scream. Another slice tore open his arm. His eyes found Eames' as Talia continued her work, and never once did the man look away.

-.-

It was hard to keep track of who he was. Talia never addressed him the same way twice in a row. Arthur. John. Blake, Jacob, CalebMattTomJosephArthurJohn . It all blended together into a twisted identity of pain and broken bones, until he could no longer remember who he was, where he had started, what he had done.

All he knew was the knife and the green grey gaze of the man who stared down at him, offering no respite.

-.-

_"What was your real name? Back before all of this?"_

_ "I don't like to remember it."_

_ "Tell me, darling. Please?"_

_ "Eames...I can't. That's the one thing I have left, alright? The one thing left that's just me."_

_ "Don't you trust me?"_

_ "Of course. You're the only one I've ever trusted to truly have my back. No one else...no one else has understood what I need, in a job or outside it, the way you do."_

_ "So why can't you tell me?"_

-.-

What's in a name? An identity? Could a person truly be defined as just their name? A name couldn't tell you anything about the experiences, the truths, the falsities, the characteristics that made up the person.

A name couldn't tell you anything. And yet everyone clung to it as if it were the only thing that could possibly set them apart from anyone else.

-.-

"Arthur. Wake up."

"'m not Arthur."

"Than who are you?"

"Robin. My name's Robin."

-.-

"I've stitched up everything necessary." The voice was familiar despite the mechanized barrier.

"Where are we?" The Point Man began to push himself up, only for a flare of pain to spike up his arm and make him fall back onto the bed, gasping for breath with his eyes squeezed shut. The bad arm, radiating with pain, was wrapped tight in a blue cast.

"The orphanage you grew up at. It seemed safest."

"And they just let the world's most dangerous criminal waltz on in? You're insane."

"When they saw you, Father Riley did not hesitate. So what would you like to be called? You changed your name a lot during your stay down in the sewers."

His breath caught, brain kicking into overdrive as it tried to snatch a name to identify with. Humiliating tears prickled behind his eyes, and his good arm moved up to wipe at them. "I don't know."

A warm, broad hand rested against his forehead. "She has not broken you yet. Do not let her crush your spirit. It is unacceptable."

"Since when have you given a damn what happens to me?"

"Since you proved yourself. Since you saved me."

-.-

_Arthur didn't like working with newbies, but Eames was such a promising Forger, it seemed like a waste to let him vanish and get himself killed in his first job. His worry was apparently well founded. Just because a person had potential didn't mean he was immune to mistakes. _

_ In Eames' defense, it was a mistake most Forgers would have made. A hand gesture the target's father made when he was nervous. When Eames had been studying the man, he never saw him in a nervous state. The moment the target realized he was dreaming, the dream collapsed. _

_ Arthur was used to waking up quick after a failed job. Their targets tended to wake up very angry and very armed. By the time Eames roused himself from the grip of the PASIV drugs, Arthur was grappling with their target. Eames watched as their target's gun turned on him, and then Arthur was standing between them, taking the bullet without flinching, before delivering a well placed hit to knock the man out. When Arthur turned back towards Eames, he thought perhaps there was something close to admiration in the Forger's eyes. _

-.-

"John? Are you awake?"

He latched onto the name, clung to it as he pulled himself out of his thoughts and shifted to see Father Riley sitting at his bedside. "I fell asleep again?"

Father Riley gave a strained smile. "You've been in and out. You're still considered a missing person by the way. Your...friend won't let me report it."

"Of course he didn't." A sigh blew out between John's lips. "Is he still around?"

"He comes back at night. In fact, he should be here shortly. He just...watches you. Takes care of your wounds." Father Riley gave a slow shake of his head. "What happened, John?"

John turned onto his back. "I got tortured. I guess. Hard to remember specifics."

"_What makes you so special?"_

"How did you end up down there in the first place?"

"I was chasing some leads," John said. "And I guess my old life caught up with me."

"Bane is part of your old life?" Father Riley asked. "What happened to you when you left Gotham?"

John shook his head slowly. "Sometimes, I don't even know anymore. I guess he was a part of my old life, but it..."

"I suppose a bit of confusion is understandable, given the situation," Father Riley said. "You were tortured. You're under a good amount of distress. Perhaps it is best if I don't ask anymore questions for now, and you tell me when you're ready."

"Yeah," John said. "I'm sorry about all this. I know having this guy around probably doesn't make you feel very safe but I think...as long as I'm here, he's not going to do anything drastic. Maybe. I-"

"Don't know anymore?" Father Riley gave a strained smile and a slow shake of his head. "It's okay, son. Take your time recovering."

The door eased open and John pushed himself up onto his good elbow to see Bane hovering in the doorway. He stared at Father Riley, and the man began to stand, but John pushed himself even further up.

"Don't intimidate him. He's been more helpful to me than you've ever been. So don't look at him like that. He's more of a man than you'll ever be," he said. His ribs ached and he had to ease himself back onto the bed or risk falling back and injuring himself further.

"John, it's alright," Father Riley said.

"No, it's not, and just..." John turned away from them both, facing the wall even though he couldn't turn his body.

"I'm sure you two have some things you need to talk about," Father Riley said, getting to his feet and heading towards the door. "Yell if you need anything, alright John?"

"Yeah." John didn't look at Bane when he heard the man move and take Father Riley's old seat.

"So, John then. That is the name you prefer?"

"I guess."

"I am sorry for what Talia has done to you. She is an expert on breaking people down, and you were never the strongest. You always tried to hard to hold down the fire and anger you held inside. A metal wall, constantly heated, is easy to take down," Bane said.

"Who are you?" John asked. He didn't care what else Bane had to say. He needed answers first and foremost. He was a detective. A detective that got dragged down to the sewers and tortured nearly out of his mind, but he was a detective. If for some reason, Bane was going to be around him, he'd have to try and get out as many answers as possible.

"I am Bane. I am also...Eames. I was. Perhaps on some level I still am," Bane said. "You were my weakness and I know that you still are. If you were not my soft spot, I would not have spirited you away when Talia had her back turned. Do you know what you have done to me?"

"I weep for you." John's anger boiled up in his chest again, and he cursed the injuries that kept him from leaping up and punching at Bane until he had gotten all of the rage out. As if it were possible to get rid of it all.

"You made me more human in those years we spent together. You made me hope that I could be more than I was for so long. I thought it was impossible for a monster to be loved."

"I don't love you. I don't love criminals."

"You were as much of a criminal as I was," Bane said, a thread of anger entering his previously soft voice. "You cannot wipe out your past, no matter how much you seem to long to. I know that. It is time you grow up and realize the same."

"Grow up? I just spent God knows how long getting tortured because you managed to weasel your way into my life the way no one else was ever able to do! What did I do to deserve what that _bitch_ did to me?" His voice cracked when he approached shouting level, and he tucked his face back towards the wall when he felt tears threatening again.

"You made me question my loyalty," Bane said softly.

John flinched away when Bane laid a hand over one of his, but Bane kept his hand just where it was. "How is that my fault?"

"It's not. But you must understand where Talia is coming from. I never dared hope when I was in the pit. I knew I was not going to escape, but when Talia came along, I began to hope that perhaps she could escape. And I knew that I would do anything to preserve her innocence," Bane said.

Something stirred in John's chest. For years, when he and Eames had been together, he had yearned to know just what had made the man who he was, and now he was getting what he always wanted. But the circumstances...he would not mind the circumstances being different.

"She became the vessel for my hope. The reason for my every action. Perhaps she grew spoiled in that regard. We only had one another. We never had eyes for anyone else. Until we both escaped and began to gather information through dream-sharing. Until you came along and made me hope for something new."

"So what? Because she's a spoiled brat who's weapon got distracted, she's justified in torturing me? I can't believe I ever thought you were worth letting into my life," John said, the words quiet and breathless as he tried to keep his anger down.

"I am not excusing her. I am explaining her actions," Bane said. "If I thought she was justified, I would have left you there and taken my punishment of watching her destroy you. If she were justified, I would have let your totem get stolen. If she were justified, I would not have called to make sure you were okay. If she were justified, I would have killed you myself when you first wandered down into the sewers."

John brought his good arm to curl around his own stomach, wishing he could curl up into Eames' grasp. But Eames was gone. There was only Bane, the mad dog of an insane woman. "Was any of it real? When we were together. When Arthur and Eames went on jobs and bought an apartment and were together. Was any of it real?"

"Yes. All of it. You allowed me to be who I would've been had I not lived in Hell on Earth. I...miss what they had. We are not them any longer, John. Arthur and Eames will never exist again. We have both come too far, you realize that now."

"I guess I do," John said. "It's a bit of relief. To know that I don't have to worry about Arthur anymore. Everything about him was fake. His relationships. His friends. All of it. I will stop you, though. Whatever it is you and Talia are planning, I'll stop it."

"I know you will try. And I know you will fail. But I did not save you for you to throw your life away. When you can get away, you should do so," Bane said.

"So you believe in whatever it is she's doing?"

Bane's hand slid up his arm to his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You make me wonder sometimes, but for now, yes."

"And what about the Batman? Did you kill him?" He turned, finally, to look at Bane. The eyes used to show such warmth and comfort, but now he was met with stone.

"No. He is to suffer and watch his city fall. It is what Talia wants," Bane said. He eased back, his grip leaving John's shoulder, and for a moment, John mourned the loss.

"Would you tell me why?" John asked, watching as Bane began to head back towards the door. "Why do you want Gotham to fall? Why this city?"

"I would say Revenge. The culmination of the League of Shadow's efforts. Now...I am not so sure anymore. Rest up, John, and leave while you can. By the end of the week, you will not be able to do so," Bane said.

"Am I going to see you again?"

"Hopefully not."

Then he was gone, leaving John alone to stare at the ceiling. He didn't want to think about where all of the cuts and breaks on his body came from. It was a horror that festered in the back of his mind, and fed his anger and rage. He'd use the rage to stop whatever it was Bane and Talia were planning, he just had to hope that Gordon would listen to what he had to say.


	11. Chapter 11

**So this lovely new chapter reveals how bad I am at action, but I hope you'll forgive me. Also, I think this chapter will answer a majority of the questions you had left, but...maybe I held a few things back. Hope you like it. I don't own the Dark Knight/Batman. Next chapter won't be for awhile I don't think? We'll see. **

John stumbled into work two days later heading straight for Gordon's office. He walked in without knocking and Gordon's expression when he did so was that of a man seeing a ghost. Maybe he was. John tried to stop his wince of pain as he sat down in the chair across from him.

"Hello, sir. Sorry for disappearing," John said.

"Jesus, what happened?" Gordon got to his feet in a rush, coming around the desk to stand in front of him to take in his bruised and battered form. "This wasn't just your standard mugging was it?"

John raised an eyebrow, one of the cuts along his temple giving a twinge of pain. "I can defend myself better than that. How long have I been gone?"

"Two and a half weeks." Gordon's arms folded over his chest. "You didn't know?"  
"Two and a half weeks," John said slowly, then looked up. "I didn't bother to check. I've been...getting tortured for lack of a better word. Down in the sewers."

He didn't expect Gordon to believe him. Hell, if he didn't know better he wouldn't trust a single word that came out of his mouth. To his credit, Gordon didn't even look too shocked.

"We figured," Gordon said. "When you didn't show up, Ross got antsy and started asking around, mainly at the orphanage. We figured you had gotten dragged down into those sewers you were so determined to investigate, so Ross and a few other men went down to take a look. That was about four days ago." He reached behind him to grab a folder, flipping through it. "They managed to drag a sentry back with them. He wouldn't talk though, no matter what we did, which admittedly was not much."

"He's one of Bane's men," John broke in. "They're loyal, as far as I know. He won't talk."

Gordon gave a strained, bitter tinged smile. "True, but we did run his prints. He's a mercenary, like Bane. It seems like the rumors you were so worried about are indeed true. You coming back like this...is proof enough, without everything else we found."

"I wish I was lying," John said. "So what else happened while I was gone?"

"Well, further proof of Bane's existence," Gordon said. "They stole something from the bank, though our technicians are still working out just what."

"They?" John asked.

"Bane, and three other man," Gordon said. "The next day, Wayne Enterprises crashed so we're thinking maybe that was their goal, but we can't figure out why. I would've asked for your thoughts, if you had been here."

"Well, I'm here now." John held his hand out and Gordon passed the file over. "Is Foley okay with you showing me this?"

"Son, this situation is serious enough that we're willing to let anyone take a look at it," Gordon said with a shake of his head. "But before you do...what happened, really? Were you able to find anything out while you were down there?"

"Promise you'll still trust me after I tell you," John said, opening the file. No sign of Talia.

"Honestly, you have yet to give me a real reason to doubt you, and if anything, your past gives you an advantage over most of our officers," Gordon said. "So let's hear it."

"Bane and I used to be co-workers. Except I didn't know he was Bane at the time." John flipped the file shut and looked up at Gordon, trying to gauge the Commissioner's expression. To the man's credit, he didn't give anything away. "And Bane actually isn't the mastermind we thought he was. Talia controls him. Talia _also_ used to be a coworker. They're both dream-workers, some of the most skilled in the business. I don't know what they're planning, but whatever it is, it's going to happen by the end of the week."

"Alright, stop." Gordon held up a hand, processing his words for a moment before continuing. "So you were nabbed in the sewers and brought to Bane and this...Talia woman, who are also dream-workers?" Gordon tapped his fingers along the inside of his arm. "You realize you sound crazy right?"

"I'm very aware," John said. "And if you don't believe me, that's okay."

"You're all we have to go on," Gordon said with a short nod. "And I've seen a lot of odd things in my life. This is hardly the worst. What else? Why would they let you go?"

John hesitated. "Bane...back before he was Bane, was my partner, in work and in my personal life. He decided to let me go once Talia was done with me."

Gordon was unable to stop his look of surprise. "Oh. I...I suppose if it's what saved you, then it's alright to be with one of the world's most dangerous criminals." A snort of laughter broke past John's well-put together facade, and if there was a slightly hysterical note to it all, Gordon didn't mention it. "He was only mildly dangerous when we were together."

Gordon ducked his head, shaking it as his shoulders shook from barely restrained laughter. "I shouldn't laugh but...perhaps the stress is getting to us all."

"Perhaps," John said, lips twisting up into a wry smile.

"But in all seriousness," Gordon said as he looked back up at John. "If he decided to let you go, are your...emotions going to hinder you moving forward? Are you feeling a conflict of interests given your past?"

John looked down, thinking hard. It wasn't a question he could answer with a simple yes or no; he had to explain why. When he thought of Bane, when he thought of Eames, all he felt was a burning anger. No sympathy. Just hurt from betrayal tempered by the heat of his fury into something close to hatred. "I think you'll find, Commissioner, that I'm even more committed to tearing down Bane and Talia than I was before. Any relations Arthur had with them are long gone."

"And why is that?"

John looked up and met Gordon's gaze head on. "Because Arthur no longer exists. They did a good job of burning him away. I almost want to send them a thank you letter."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"For the first time ever, I actually feel like John Blake."

"Good to hear."

-.-

In the end, Gordon convinced him to go to the hospital and get properly checked out. Which apparently required getting an entirely new cast, and new stitches, the nurses bickering over who could've done such a shoddy job. It made John laugh a little, on the inside, because Arthur had taken care of himself just fine without hospitals for years, but it was all going to the GCDP's bill so he didn't protest too much.

When he returned to the police station, Gordon guided him to one of the more secluded meeting rooms. The table in the center of the room was covered in files and a large corkboard took up the far wall. Foley and Ross turned when they entered the room, and Ross broke into a grin, striding across the room to pull him into a hug. It wasn't too painful, but John couldn't really stop his wince.

"Eh, sorry, it's just really good to see you," Ross said as he pulled back. "Even if you are a little worse for wear."

"As touching as this is, we have work to do. John, you need to clarify some things you told Gordon," Foley interrupted.

"Admit I was right first and then I'll talk," John said, setting his jaw when he met Foley's gaze.

"Son, this isn't the time to let your disagreements get in the way," Gordon said, reaching out to place a hand on John's elbow.

John knocked his hand away. "No." He turned back to Foley. "We wouldn't be in this mess to begin with if you had just trusted me before hand!"

"Are you trying to blame me for what they did to you?" Foley asked, hands going to rest on his waist. "You got yourself into that mess! They were _your_ coworkers. You withheld information-"

"Would you have believed me if I told you in the first place?" John shouted.

Foley's mouth snapped shut and a beat of silence made the air tense and uncomfortable. "No. I wouldn't have believed you."

"So what was I supposed to do? Let it go? Let them do whatever it is they're planning without even _trying_ to stop them?" John shook his head.

"You should let the authorities handle it," Foley said.

"Because that always goes so well," John said.

"You joined this force for a reason!" Foley jabbed a finger in his direction. "Because that vigilante work gets people hurt or killed!"

"At least they get something done," John said.

"We're not here for you two to argue," Gordon interrupted, stepping between them. "You two need to get over your differences so we can focus on the problem at hand, is that clear?"

John backed up, jaw clenched tight. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, Foley. What do we know?" Gordon pulled a chair out, gesturing for John to sit, and then taking the seat next to him.

"Well, we have video of Bane and his men at the bank doing something with transferring funds. The next day, Wayne Enterprises crashed, lost all of its money. Bruce Wayne was missing long before that, so the only logical conclusion is that it was all fraud. For some reason, Bane is targeting Bruce Wayne," Foley said.

John could hazard a reason why, but didn't think the man would really appreciate having his identity thrown out for everyone to know. Especially given how much Foley hated the Batman. "So what happened to the company?"

Foley looked at him. "What do you mean?"  
"Bane isn't stupid, and neither is Talia. They have another motive. Crashing Wayne Enterprises is child's play, so what happened to the company?" John leaned back in his chair. "If we know what happened to the company, we can figure out what their ultimate plan is."

"I have the names of the board members," Ross said, snatching up one of the files on the table and flipping it open. "When a business fails like this did, usually the board will kick the previous owner out and put it in the hands of someone else. It says here it went to John Dagget."

He passed the file to John. Jon looked closely at Dagget's file, noting that the man owned a lot of companies around Gotham, not exactly surprising for a businessman on the board of one of the biggest enterprises. What was odd was that most of the businesses were cement companies that were contracted around the city for road repairs, and most of the contracts were made in the last four months.

"Look at the dates on these," John said, passing the paper over to Gordon.

"You think _Dagget _has something to do with this?" Foley asked.

John turned the page in the file, crooking an eyebrow up at Foley. "I know better than to ignore anything that even looks a little suspicious."

He skimmed over the next page, another board member but with nothing that stood out on the file. Just some signs pointing to tax fraud, but that wasn't surprising and wasn't worth noting. As he continued through the file, he wondered if he could've prevented whatever was about to unfold if he had just done what Bruce asked and used Arthur's skills to do a thorough background check on everyone on the board.

He flipped the next page, jaw locking up tight when he saw the picture that went with the name. "How many masks are you going to wear, Mal?" John held the page up. "She's our problem. This is Talia."

"_Miranda Tate?_" Gordon's eyebrows rose as he took the page from John. "But she's been funding world charities for years. You can't possibly expect us to believe that _she's_ the mastermind behind all of this."

"I think I can recognize the face of the woman that broke my arm," John said dryly.

Ross gave an uncomfortable cough, turning to the corkboard so he wouldn't have to deal with the glaring contest and clash of wills between John and Gordon.

"This is Miranda Tate, John. She's one of Gotham's most successful businesswomen. You must have it wrong," Gordon said.

"Get me a computer and I can give you solid evidence that I am correct," John said. "She was one of my closest friends. I'd recognize her, but if you insist on more proof, that can be arranged."

"No. I'll take you at your word."

Both Ross and John whipped their heads around to stare at Foley in unmasked surprise. The police chief stared resolutely down at the table for another moment before looking up at John.

"I trust your abilities because I trust Saito. You excel at these things. You wanted a quiet life, so you have no reason to make this up. So...if Miranda Tate is actually the mastermind behind this, what's her motive?" Foley straightened, arms folding across his chest.

"I'm not entirely sure. If I had time to go through every job she ever had I could probably figure it out," John said.

"You're the greatest Point Man in the world. Why can't you figure it out in time?" Foley asked.

John couldn't stop the bitter smile. "I _was_. And she was in the business for six years. That is way too much data to go through." And he wasn't sure if he could force himself back into the role of Point Man without destroying what little sanity he had left.

"Okay, so if that's not an option, we should chase up those leads on Dagget," Gordon said. "See where the recent work was done and draw it out on a map."

"What about Bane?" Ross asked. "We can't just leave him down in the sewers can we?"

"We'll have the police start combing through," Foley said. "But I'd rather we look into detaining Miranda Tate first. If she's the head of this whole operation, it'll slow down once she's in custody."

"Not by much. Bane isn't your average thug," John said. "But I agree. The sooner she's detained, the better." He'd feel a bit better, sleep a bit easier, if he knew she was behind bars.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever else Foley was going to say.

"Sir, you said you wanted whatever information we could get on the board members of Wayne Enterprises. We got a 911 call, and it looks like it's something you should check out," a voice called through the door.

Foley's gaze snapped to John. "Are you sure whatever it is they're planning isn't happening _now_?"  
"It's totally possible they fed me false information," John said. "Actually, knowing what they're capable of, they probably did, but what else did I have to tell you?"

"It's not your fault, son, you helped more than you hurt," Gordon said, getting to his feet. "But it's best if we move fast now."

There was a pounding at the door, and with a disgruntled sigh, Gordon ripped it open. The officer on the other side flinched under Gordon's stern gaze. "Sorry, sir. There was another call. The board of Wayne Enterprises has been kidnapped."

"Do you have names?" Gordon asked.

"Uh, Lucius Fox, Miranda Tate, and Bradley Smith," the officer said. "The rest are being held hostage, but then the call got cut off."

"Gordon, get a team on that. Ross, you're with me. We need to get as many officers down in those sewers and find Bane," Foley ordered, heading for the door.

"Don't you think we're going about this wrong?" John asked. "If we just _react_, we'll fall right into whatever it is they're planning. I highly doubt Miranda Tate just _happened_ to be one of the members that got kidnapped."

"But if we don't act now, we might lose a lot of lives," Gordon said. "Just trust Foley. He knows what he's doing."

John bit down his retort and turned to Foley. "Alright. Then what do you want me to do?"

"Draw out that map on where Dagget had those jobs contracted," Foley said, grabbing his radio from his belt. "Let us know what you find out."

John accepted the radio as Ross moved past him, following after Gordon and Foley who were already long gone.

"Keep us posted on what you find," Ross said, giving his shoulder a rough squeeze.

"And you be careful and come back alive," John said. "Remember, they're not your average thugs."

"Have some faith." Ross gave a quick grin and darted out the door.

_"Have some faith to dream a little bigger darling."_

_ "I'm not putting my faith in anyone but myself. Sorry Eames."_

_ "But you can trust me not to let you down. You know that Arthur."_

_ "No I don't."_

_ "Can't you just take a leap of faith and try with me?"_

_ "Eames..."_

John jolted out of his thoughts, turning back to the table and clearing off a space to lay down a map of Gotham. The adrenaline helped him ignore the twinges of pain his injury gave him as he moved, marking down every job Dagget contracted in the last four months.

"Any progress, Officer Blake?" Foley asked through the radio.

"It's been barely five minutes, I'm going to need more time than that," John said, heading for where they kept the research laptops. "I need to do some cross-referencing with state records to see which of these jobs were legitimate and which jobs were something else."

"What else could they be? Wayne Enterprises is the target," Gordon said through the radio.

"True, but Miranda Tate just got kidnapped too. Is it really that far of a stretch to think maybe there's another person on the board willing to make sure it falls? Especially given that Dagget now owns Wayne Enterprises?" John put the radio between his ear and shoulder once he grabbed the laptop and headed back for the meeting room.

"Was," Foley said. By the sound of the wind feeding into the radio, John guessed he was outside. "We just found his body in a dumpster in the alley outside Wayne Enterprises. I guess he never made it to work."

"Fantastic," John breathed. He set the laptop down and opened it before readjusting the radio. "He was probably just a puppet for Miranda then. Makes it all the more important to figure out what he was doing before they got rid of him. Keep me posted, I need to concentrate."

John wished he had his own laptop and equipment at his disposal, but he had worked with worse. He moved fast, discarding the jobs that lined up with city repairs, and only marking down the jobs contracted by other businesses he didn't have time to look up.

"We've got about a quarter of the force underground now," Ross said. "We're doing our best but it's hard to make this work on such short notice. Getting quite a few odd looks from the citizens too. It's the day of that big football game, so it's busier than usual."

"Keep it up, and keep looking," Foley ordered. "John?"

"Not getting a pattern yet, or at least nothing solid yet," John said. "Though there was a job on every single bridge to the mainland except one."

"That doesn't mean anything for all we know," Gordon said. "Has Miranda Tate's position changed?"

John set the tracker to recalculate and made a few more points on the map. "Apparently there was work done at the stadium as well, underneath the field." John scoured the report for more details. "It doesn't say _what_ they were doing though. You can't tell me that's _not_ suspicious.

"Perhaps you are right. But let's hope you're not," Gordon said. "What about her location? We still can't find a tunnel that goes under the river at those coordinates."

"She's moving. She's on 22nd Street. She'll probably keep moving. I'll recalculate," John said.

He hit the recalculate button, and a heartbeat later, a muffled boom echoed through the building and rocked the ground. A moment later, the computer pinged out Miranda's location. "She's underneath the stadium? I'm guessing. Gordon, what the hell was that?"

"An explosion, seems to have come from well...the stadium," Gordon said. "We need to move and figure out just what the hell is going on here."

"John, maybe it's explosives," Ross said. "Maybe all those jobs Dagget took, when they did them, they snuck explosives into the concrete. It's the perfect cover, isn't it? It explains the bridges and everything."

"We're going to operate under that assumption for now," Foley said. "Even if there is literally no motive for it. Given where the other jobs were, what do you think the plan is, John?" John had to give the man credit for sounding calm, despite the fact that there was a good chance their stadium had gone up in flames.

He turned his gaze back to the map, eyes flicking from one mark to the next, connecting the dots. "It's a ring. Probably. Stadium at the center. I can't tell for certain, I'd need more time to confirm it, but that's probably it." His heart dropped to his stomach. "Ross, where are you? Roughly."

"Eh, somewhere around 35th Street, I think," Ross replied.

"Yeah okay, you guys need to get out," John said. "I think they're planning to trap you guys under."

"Fuck."

"Alright," Foley cut in. "Ross, get everyone out. We can't afford to take a chance, Bane's not worth it. John, turn on the television. The game is being filmed, so let us know if you can see anything weird."

John shut the laptop, glancing around the room for a remote to turn on the old television in the corner of the room. It took awhile to find it, but when he did, the screen flickered on just in time to see Bane snap a man's neck on the edge of the gaping hole that used to be a football field.

"Gordon. Bane blew up the field. He's there with some..._bomb_ thing," John said. He couldn't tell for sure what the contraption was, but a further scan of the area revealed something else. "And Miranda Tate's not there."

"We need the police up here now," Foley ordered.

"We're trying," Ross said. "These aren't exactly easy places to get out of once we're-"

The ground rocked, explosion after explosion from all directions, making the building shake loose bits of plaster. John braced himself against the table as best he could, and when finally things seemed to have settled down, he turned his gaze to the television. He was greeted by white fuzz. His hand scrabbled for the radio.

"Ross? Ross, you there?"

For a moment, there was nothing but radio silence, but then, "Trapped...rubble...can't...way out."

"Ross, man, you're breaking up. Can you repeat that?"

John waited, staring down at the silent radio in his hand, but nothing came from Foley, Gordon, or Ross. Eventually, he tossed the radio across the room and turned to the laptop, only to find that there was no Internet.

He shouldn't have been surprised. The moment he realized the cops were walking straight into a god damned trap, he should have realized that cutting the radio towers and Internet signal would be the next logical steps. Gotham had a lot of resources, but no hackers capable of getting the Internet back online, not with the resources Mal and Eames had at their fingertips. Well, Gotham had him, and he was probably more than capable of getting the systems up and running again if he had his laptop, and if they weren't waiting for him to try.

John hadn't felt this helpless in quite some time. Injured, no technology, no one to _trust._ Well. Maybe there was one person.

He got to his feet and did the only thing he could think of. He went home.

-.-

"John, what the hell is going on out there?"

John shoved past Father Riley and into the orphanage, slamming the door on the chaos behind him. "If I knew, I'd tell you. No radio, no Internet, no cellphone reception. Just rioting, though it seems to be calming down a bit for now. I'll try and find Gordon later, but I...want to see if I can help you first."

Riley stepped in front of him so that John couldn't move around him. "I'm going to need a better answer than that if you think I'm going to let you in just like that."

John recoiled, surprised at the anger in the older man's eyes. "What?"

"John," Riley said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You show up, bruised and batter. A notorious _wanted_ criminal takes care of you here, where I'm trying to protect the boys under my care. You leave, not four hours ago, and the whole city goes to hell! Now give me one _good_ reason I should let you one step further into this building!"

The shouting attracted the attention of some of the younger children, who clustered around the top of the stairs. Riley followed his gaze, jaw tightening when he saw them.

"I'm sorry, Father, but I don't know where else to go. I know whatever comes next though isn't going to be good for anyone." John glanced at the kids, then back at Riley. "Just...let me do what I can to help you prepare, and I'll leave."

"Fine. On one condition." Father Riley took a step back so that he could really look John in the eyes. "You tell me everything."

John's breath caught, then rushed out in a hurried sigh. "Okay. Okay."

-.-

_It's funny. I've literally dreamt of the moment I'd finally tell you, or someone, the whole truth. All of it. Who I really am. The weird part is that now, more than any other time, I have no idea who I am. John, Arthur, Robin, Joseph, you don't even want to know how many identities I've taken on. But that's not the part you need to hear yet. _

_ The part you need to know, Father, starts with something you actually know quite well. _

_ It started when my parents died, more so my dad than my mom. The feeling you get when you watch your parent die in front of you, it's this twisted mixture of helplessness and relief. _

_ You don't even look surprised to hear me say that. Makes sense. I'm sure you remember my nightmares. My dad wasn't winning any awards for parenting skills. He was still family though, and while the relief faded over time into indifference...that feeling of helplessness buried itself deep, and no matter how much anger I piled on top of it, it never went away. _

_ When I figured out who the Batman was, that's when I knew what would make that feeling go away. Don't give me that look. I'm not going to tell you who he is. _

_ Anyways. You know how much we admired him. Hell, the kids here still worship him. He was proof that where the law failed to help my dad, or me, there was someone else outside the law that could help. I wanted to do what he did. I think you'll recall what happened when I finally saved enough money to buy myself a laptop. _

_ All that time I spent locked away with that think, I was teaching myself how to code and to hack. Figured I could catch criminals that way, dig up information and then send anonymous tips to the police. Unfortunately, I wasn't so good at covering my tracks back then like I am now, and when one of those criminals managed to evade the cops, he traced the tip back to me. _

_ At the time, I was seventeen, almost eighteen. He was twenty-three. His name was Dominick, Dom for short. He cornered me in an alley on my way back from school, beat the shit out of me and demanded to know who sent me, who I was working for. Somehow, I managed to convince him that I had done it for myself and wasn't running with any gangs or anything. He asked how I did it and when I told him, he said he had a job offering for me that would make it so I could help people where the police couldn't. _

_ Over the next few weeks, I found out what he did. It's called dream-sharing, or dream-working, either or really. It's basically a heist of the mind. He stole ideas, for money. Sometimes the things he stole got a criminal locked away. Sometimes it just pissed off some government agency or a mob. _

_ I know it seems crazy but...it's real. We used military equipment that they used, secretly of course, to train some soldiers. Dream-work is actually a whole branch of the government. Whole other type of spies. The technology eventually got leaked and created a whole new underground culture of mind thieves. Dom was what we call an Extractor. I was the Point Man. I made us fake identities and researched our targets. I found out everything about them. Hacked their emails, their bank accounts, everything. We have to know the target's habits to create a convincing dream. _

_ I became the best in the business. I enjoyed working with Dom. I stopped feeling helpless. The power you get when you're in the dream...you can do anything. It's addicting, and for three years, I let Dom drag me all over the world on those jobs. He made me take self-defense classes, so by now I know six different types of combat, but in all honesty, I'm only decent at one. _

_ After I turned twenty, I started branching out, taking my own jobs without Dom backing me up. And that's how I met Eames. He had heard of my reputation, and after we shared a job, he asked if I could craft him a new identity. The one he was using was so obviously fake, I was surprised he hadn't gotten killed off for being so shady. _

_ When I tried to dig behind the fake identity, I couldn't find anything, so I stopped looking. And I started working with Eames more and more. Around the same time, Dom was approached by a woman named Mal. They were married within the year. He was head over heels in love with her. After a job gone wrong together though, we thought Mal went crazy. We thought she had killed herself. _

_ For a year, Dom was on the run, because the cops thought he had killed her. There was a job though, that could clear his name. It was difficult, and we almost died, but Dom got his name cleared, and he left the job for good. For the next three years I worked with Eames. We grew close, moved in together. Then, out of the blue, he vanished. Couldn't find him no matter how long, or how hard, I looked. Another year later, one of my jobs went south, and I realized vigilante work was just getting innocent people killed, and was doing more harm than good. _

_ There was this girl. Not very old. Her name was Amelia. She was pretty rich, her family had old money. They were killed, murdered in their beds, and she wanted to know who the killer was, because she had seen the man's face but was so traumatized she couldn't remember it clearly. She wanted a dream-worker to draw it out for her. She contacted me directly, but instead of assembling my own team, she said she already had one. I searched them like I always did and they came up clean. I wasn't going to take any chances with a girl who was barely fifteen. In hindsight, I shouldn't have taken the job at all, but...I understood what she was going through, kind of, and I wanted to help her. _

_ Turns out one of the guys on the team was the killer. He was a dream-worker who had something against her parents, and had killed them. I guess he had been trying to throw us off his scent using the dream work, maybe pin the blame on one of us or something, but when that went south, he forced us out of the dream. And he shot the girl, in real life. Killed her and ran. _

_ I guess after that...I didn't want any part of vigilante justice. Can you imagine if instead of calling the police, I had gone after the guy that shot my dad? I would be just as dead as that girl is. I..._

_ Anyways. I pulled some old strings, got myself put on the police force here, in Gotham. Figured that was the best way to help people, in a strictly legal way, in a way that wouldn't get anyone killed. Of course, life never really wanted to be easy on me. I caught wind of Bane. _

_ I tried to urge Foley to open up a case but he thought I was crazy. So I went down there on my own with well...the Batman, and some burglar that called herself Catwoman. The woman led us into a trap, and it turns out...Mal wasn't dead. She's running the whole...operation to take down this city. Or at least, that's what I think she wants. I don't actually know a whole lot, but she spent a good amount of time torturing me to teach Bane a lesson._

_ Because you see, she and Bane...they went way back. Bane used to be Eames. And when Eames and I had gotten close, apparently I was a _distraction_ to their ultimate goal. They had been using dream-work to gather information and establish contacts for several years. When she had supposedly died, Eames was supposed to fake his own death, but he didn't. He stayed with me for three more years because I...well he said he loved me but I...I guess we've all seen how that's turned out. _

_ So I'm sorry, Father Riley. For dragging you into this mess. Bane...feels some form of care for me I guess, if he bothered to drag me here, but Mal, or Talia, or whatever her name is...she knows that I used to live here. This will probably be the first place she looks if she actually is still looking. I should probably bail. _

_ And...And I don't think you'd really want me around anyways, you know? You always say that...we can be forgiven for what we've done. I guess you could call this my confessional. I destroyed lives, got more innocent people killed than I care to think about, and possibly helped aid the god-damned criminals that are going to try and tear this city apart. I can understand if you never want to see me again. _

_ I know this is all a lot to absorb. You...you probably feel like you don't even know who you're looking at any more. _

_ If it's any consolation...when I look in the mirror? _

_ I don't know who's looking back at me either. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Bit of a shorter chapter, full of technical jargon that makes no sense. But Bane will be appearing more in the next few chapters, so get ready. Things are about to get interesting. I hope you enjoy, reviews are loved, and I don't own Batman/Dark Knight.**

John wasn't surprised when Father Riley told him to leave and give him time to think over everything John had said. He knew he sounded crazy, and who wanted a crazy person under their roof when the whole city was already crashing around their ears? The problem was he didn't have much of anywhere to go.

Father Riley at least let him change out of his uniform so he wouldn't get dragged away by the masses. He figured he couldn't go back to his flat, because if Talia was looking for him, he didn't doubt that'd be the first place she would look. He knew where Gordon and Foley each were, and had scoped out the areas of Gotham they lived in weeks ago, purely out of habit. That begged the question, of course, of whether or not the mobs snatching cops and rich people out into the streets knew where Gordon and Foley lived.

He was no stranger to sneaking around Gotham and avoiding the riots and mobs. Sure, he wasn't as used to all the extreme violence, but it almost made it easier to sneak away without anyone noticing. Guilt twisted in his gut when he walked past people being beaten down, but he clamped down on the anger. Locked it away to use as fuel for when he would be able to do something other than get overwhelmed by the masses.

He didn't knock on the front door when he reached the townhouse Gordon called home. Instead, John pick locked the back door and slipped inside, relocking the door behind him. The door led into a darkened kitchen, the only light being from the streetlight streaming through the blinds and into the living room. He crept through the kitchen and into the next room, freezing when the cool metal of a gun pressed into his temple.

"Gordon. It's me," he said. "Really gonna shoot a guy in a sling?" He waved his bad arm as best he could.

The gun dropped and John turned to look at Gordon's shadowed form. "Sorry John. Couldn't take my chances."

"Understandable. What's the situation?"  
"Let's get somewhere that I can turn on the lights, yeah?"

Gordon turned and led him down a flight of stairs and through a door. Once the door was shut, Gordon flicked on an overhead light, revealing that they were in a large pantry. Gordon was still in his uniform, but didn't appear injured in any way.

"I've got a generator running on a timer. We already lost power here. Don't need light at night so much. Don't want to draw too much attention to us after all," Gordon said.

"Do we have a plan?" John asked.

"Foley and I agreed to meet at one of the police warehouses tomorrow night. We were able to get in touch with about fifty officers, but that's it," Gordon said. He frowned, eyes flicking up and down John's form. "I'm not quite sure you should join us, son. You need to focus on recovering first."

"That's stupid. I know what we're up against, I should be there," John said.

"You're not a senior officer. There would be a lot of questions about where you got your information and where your loyalty lies. Your presence would divide us, John. And we can't afford that," Gordon said firmly.

John glared, unable to stop himself. "Are _you_ questioning where my loyalties lie, Gordon?"

"Of course not. I'm the last person that would think that," Gordon said. "But I'm not most people on the force. They won't want to hear what a hothead greenhorn has to say."  
John knew Gordon was right, but it didn't make the truth any easier to swallow. "Okay, so I stay behind. I already told you what you'll need to know. Maybe don't mention they're my old co-workers."

Gordon gave a strained smile in response. "Perhaps not the best way to build your credibility, no."

"So do you know what Bane did at the stadium or...?" John asked, leaning back against the door.

"He turned a nuclear reactor into a nuclear bomb. Some citizen is the triggerman. That's all we got," Gordon said with a shrug. "A lot of the witnesses Foley and I _could_ flag down here hysterical."

"Any contact from the Federal government?" John asked.

"No internet. All the signals are blocked or cut," Gordon said. His arms folded over his chest. "Speaking of...would your...past experience be able to help us with that?"  
John shrugged. "Not sure. I'd need some supplies and a location we could leave pretty quickly. I'll probably be able to connect for about two minutes before I get traced, so it'd be best if I knew exactly what you want me to do once we get online."

"We'll scope out some areas tomorrow. We'll want to get a message to the federal government, and we can work out what we want it to say tonight."

"Keep it short. I'm going to have to encrypt the hell out of it. I'll send it to a contact I have that can decode it," John said. "I'd rather the rest of the government _not _try and crack my codes if I can avoid it. Is that acceptable?"  
"And your past co-workers?" Gordon asked. "They won't know how to crack it when you send it out?"

"No. It's a constantly changing encryption. No one can crack it except my contact," John said.

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "Must be a pretty smart contact."

"Something like that."

-.-

John's 'contact' was not so much a person, but a computer program he had found, and subsequently left, in their computer systems with years ago. It was dormant and undetectable, until he accessed it again. Over time, he had learned that it took about seven minutes for the government to realize they were being hacked, and another four to take the program down. In the past, he had used it to steal files for a job, or to destroy one identity and swap it with a new if he didn't have time to do so in a safer way. So far, they had yet to totally erase the program, possibly because its actual origin was within their anti-virus programs.

He couldn't claim the credit for developing it, though he had added a few personal touches. There was a mastermind hacker from France that the CIA had gotten their hands on years ago, and they had enlisted the help of some of the better, but more criminal, dream workers like Arthur. He had acted as the Extractor and the Point Man, so when it came to reporting the information back to his employer, he left out some of the details, keeping the knowledge of the hacker's program to himself for further use.

Sending a message to the government was new though. He could do it, yes, but he wasn't sure if they would take the message seriously. He could flood everyone's inboxes with it if need be, but that probably wouldn't help the credibility. Hopefully, Gordon would have some identifying code the government wouldn't ignore.

The next morning, there was a small glass of water and pain pills waiting beside his bed table. John left the pills. If he was going to spend the day stealing supplies while dodging mobs, he'd rather his mind be clear. There was also the small feat of breaking back into his apartment for his laptop and equipment, barring that it hadn't already been raided.

The showers still worked, so John allowed himself a five-minute cold shower before pulling on yesterday's clothes and heading out. The hysteria from the day before had mostly died down, at least temporarily. It felt too much like the calm before the storm. Traversing through Gotham's back alleys wasn't hard, but it still took a long time for him to reach the district his apartment was in. Oddly enough, his injury didn't attract unwanted attention of those he had to pass by, and he attributed that to how no one sane would walk around like he was. His potential craziness was probably keeping the more cowardly muggers away.

When he reached his apartment, he headed straight through the front door. The electronic locks were all turned off so he headed straight up. The stairwell was mostly clean, and there was no sign that the angry mobs having made their way through. When he got to his door, he tested the handle. It was unlocked.

John eased his gun out of his jacket pocket, then kicked the door open and training it on the only other figure in the room. Selina sat on the couch, legs folded beneath her with her hands in her lap. She crooked an eyebrow up.

"You and I both know you won't fire that gun, and you're in no shape to actually fight me," Selina said. "So put the toy away and come sit."

"This room is bugged, isn't it?" John didn't lower the gun, but he did reach back with his foot to close the door.

"Probably, but here you are anyways," she said, a smirk twisting her lips up.

"Point taken. Why are you here?" he asked. "Did Talia send you to finish me off? Or drag me back?"

"Actually, no. They mostly tossed me out. I outlived my usefulness," she said.

"Oh, so you came to me to what? Beg for scraps?" John gave a short, bitter laugh. "How desperate of you."

"If you'd shut up, you'll see I'm trying to apologize," she cut in, rising to her feet. She almost stepped towards him until she heard the click of John readying the gun. "Jesus Arthur-"

"John. I got rid of Arthur. You were there. Surely you remember," he said, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. "You didn't do anything. Why the _hell_ do you think I would forgive you?"

Selina shook her head, disbelief apparent in her expression. "I didn't know she was going to do that. I...I never would've let you go down if I knew."

"Yeah right," John said.

Selina's sharp gaze met his, harsh. "I am a lot of things. I will kill for what I need. I will _not_ let anyone get tortured for some _stupid_ petty reason. Especially when I'm getting nothing out of it."

"Nice to know you care."

"I can't afford to care, but I'm trying anyways. We're all going to die in a few months. Guess I should try and get some redemption before hand, right?"

John bit back his retort, instead lowering his gun. "What do you mean we're all going to die?"

"It's a nuclear bomb, you idiot. It's been destabilized. In a few months it'll be so unstable it'll blow up, whether or not the triggerman sets it off before hand," she said with an eye roll.

"Oh. Well I suppose that changes things," John said. He clicked the safety on and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. "So since we've established that I'm not going to kill you, how about you tell me what else you know?"

He moved towards the couch, feigning a carelessness he didn't feel. In all honesty, every part of him screamed to run the other way, could still feel her weight on him when she had pinned him to the ground in the sewers. He pushed his thoughts away as he sat down, propping his feet up on the table.

Selina stood where she was for a moment, then joined him. "I am sorry. You didn't deserve what happened to you."

"We're not talking about that," John said. "Tell me what else you know."

"Not much. They were holding things over my head, I told you that," she said. Her arms folded across her chest, and when he glanced over at her, she was staring at the wall. "I also know they're planning on breaking prisoners out of Blackgate prison today."

John glanced over at her. "When?"

"Probably within the next ten minutes," she said. "They were planning on bringing the power back so people would watch it all go down. Apparently, Bane's giving another speech."

"Who's filming it?" John asked. He got to his feet and moved to his bedroom to find his laptop, grateful to see it untouched. Selina followed after him, watching from the doorway as he found his Ethernet cord and unplugged it. He had another internet connecter in the living room wall. He turned back to her once he had collected everything.

"You could, oh I don't know, be a bit more helpful," he said.

"I apologized. I don't know what else you want from me," she said, leaning back. "Besides, maybe I like what Bane and Talia are doing."

He lifted an eyebrow, shoving past her to reach the living room. He hit the on button of his television on the way to the couch so when they did bring the power back it would click on. "I don't believe you for a second, by the way."

John set the laptop down and went to plug his Ethernet cord into the wall, before dragging it back to plug into his laptop. Most people thought it was old school of him to keep using an Ethernet cord, but it was more secure and faster for his needs.

Selina perched herself on the edge of his coffee table once he was settled into the couch. "Now, Arthur-"

"John," he corrected with a short glare, stabbing the on button of his laptop.

"Whatever." She gave a short eye roll. "The point is, just because I hate my employers doesn't mean I disagree with their goal."

"So you like the idea of criminals all over?"

She shrugged. "I can handle myself. Can't say I'm overly concerned."

"And what about the innocent ones that can't handle it?" he asked.

"Well aren't they lucky to have you around?"

John shook his head slowly. "You have no idea how badly I want to kick you out."

"Lucky for me, you're crippled and won't be able to do so," Selina said.

John clenched his jaw tighter and he kicked out at the coffee table as his login screen loaded up. The table rocked a bit, but Selina didn't budge, instead viewing him with a look he would normally reserve for a petulant child. It was frustrating, being angry with no outlet, without the physical capability to remove the annoyance.

The television flickered on at the same moment his Internet signal clicked on. Apparently they didn't care overly much about only bringing certain parts of the power back. He logged into the program that normally took him to the government databases and began to code in a short cut. The next time the power kicked on, he'd be prepared for a quick link up and message. If he kept the laptop tethered to the database, there was a possibility he could send the message regardless of the Internet sources. He knew Bane would be able to trace his signal if it was wireless; Arthur had always gone wireless before. With the cord, hopefully he'd buy himself more time, and if they were lucky, they would never guess which IP address was his.

"John, I'm sure whatever you're doing is of vast importance, but you might want to see this," Selina said.

John's fingers continued to click along the keys as he turned his gaze up. He stopped though, as he registered what was showing on the screen before him. He knew Blackgate Prison well enough. Knew it was full of criminals destined to fulfill their sentence without parole. It made his skin crawl to see what used to be Eames standing a top a type of armored tank he had never seen before, dream or no. John's gaze flicked to Selina, who was staring at the screen.

"How are they filming this?" he asked.

"Not that hard to make the media do what you want, they're just used to getting money, not death threats," she said. "Now pay attention."

John's attention turned back to the television and he watched as Bane began to talk, and tried not to let his memories and thoughts the better of him.

"For the past eight years, Gotham's citizens have listened to the same speech from their Commissioner about how the Dent Act has made their streets safer. The Dent Act was the spawn of the pure and noble Harvey Dent, a man who could do no wrong." Bane reached into the folds of his jacket, producing a folded piece of paper. "I have here the speech your dear Commissioner almost read each year-"

"How did he get that?" John asked.

"I stole it from him the night I stole Bruce Wayne's fingerprints," Selina said. "Wasn't sure what they wanted it for. Perhaps you should listen."

Bane was reading the speech, had been reading the speech while John was distracted, so he was only able to hear the tail end of Gordon's words. "The Batman didn't murder Harvey Dent, he saved my boy then took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the mad man who tried to murder my own child but I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth and it is time for me to resign."

John wasn't an idiot. He knew that no one was squeaky clean, cops more than other people; it was the nature of the job after all. But listening to the truth of Gordon's character, and hearing the way he let Batman take the fall for Harvey's mistake to give the appearance that his own hands were clean...it made him feel sick. He wasn't sure what happened after Bane finished the speech, and he didn't care. He just turned the television off and shoved his anger away.

"What, no reaction?" Selina asked, turning to face him. "Your police hero is a fake!"

"And? I still have to take care of this," John said, fingers typing away. "Preferably before they cut the power, but it isn't necessary." Better to lie. It wasn't like he could depend on Selina. If she _didn't_ betray him again, he'd be more surprised than if she did.

"But all your hopes of good cops was destroyed," she said.

He glanced up at her. "I have no idea what I possibly could have done to make you think I had such a naïve outlook on life. I'm insulted."

She shrugged and got to her feet. "So what will you do now?"

John finished coding the shortcut, the information of the truth of the bomb stored so he'd be able to send it faster when the time came. "I don't know. Do what I can to stay alive and help people." He glanced up as he shut his laptop down. "You?"

"Stay alive and help myself," she said with a small grin.

"I saw that coming," John said. He got to his feet and headed back to his room. Unsurprisingly, Selina followed after him and hovered in the doorway once more.

It was difficult to access his semi-auto under the floorboard with one hand, but after that, collecting his clothing and stuffing them in his backpack was easy. He disassembled the gun, stowing the parts away throughout the bag before carrying it to the living room and tucking away his laptop and cords.

"You going to follow me back?" he asked, heading for the door.

"Maybe," she said.

When he looked back at her, she was standing behind the couch. Something about the way she looked at him reminded him Ariadne when she had first started out dream sharing. Starting off strong, only to have one thing throw her off and suddenly her eyes were begging for answers. Back then, he had kissed her, followed it up with a cheesy line. She had relaxed a bit at his antics. He didn't think the same tactic would work with Selina.

"Are you going to let Talia know my whereabouts?" he asked.

"No. What she did was wrong, and I'm not going to play a part in letting it happen again."

"Might have been the first thing you've said that I actually believe," John said.

"I said I was sorry!"

John slammed the door behind him. She was going to have to try a lot harder than that.

-.-

Later that night found Gordon and John sitting on the floor of the bathroom, which was lit by candles to conserve the gas in the generator.

"That's the message we're going with then?" John asked.

Gordon gave a short nod. "Quick and to the point. What's the other information you wanted to add?"

A frustrated sigh blew past John's lips. "Selina Kyle was waiting for me in my apartment. She's the one that led me down to the sewers in the first place." John's head thumped against the wall. "She told me some things, though whether or not their reliable is up for debate. We might want to include her information."

"Let's hear it," he said.

"In five months it will be too unstable. That bomb is going off no matter what."

Gordon's expression was unreadable across the flicker of the flames. "We might as well include it. Better safe than sorry."

"I don't know what we can do to stop it from going off," John said.

"This is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but maybe we should utilize your other skills," Gordon suggested.

John's heart attempted to stop for a moment as he glared at the other. "Even if I _wanted_ to, I don't have the tools. I left them with an old friend."

"Can you get them sent in?"

"Maybe," John said. "But it's a really shit idea. That's the least of our concerns. We should be worrying about the now. Speaking of, I heard your speech today."

When he looked up, Gordon's gaze was rooted to the ground. "That wasn't written by me."

"Bullshit. Selina stole it from you," John said.

"You're taking the thief's word over my own?" Gordon asked, incredulous.

"She wasn't the one staring at the ground when she answered," John said. "So stop lying."

"Politics is the short answer," he said after a moment. "We needed the policy passed, so I covered for him. I thought it was the right thing to do."  
"This is why I hate law enforcement," John said. "Incompetent. Easily swayed by politics and emotions."

"And you aren't?" Gordon's tone was harsh as he met John's glare over the flame.

"I learned not to be. You only end up making things worse," John said. He shut his laptop.

"I made things better! I sacrificed for the people!"

"_You? _You look fine to me. The man who made the real sacrifice is nowhere to be found. You let yourself come out as a hero. So tell me, please, _what_ possible sacrifice did you make?" The words were angry, and it made John uncomfortable. He knew anger didn't make him look anymore legitimate, but it was getting harder and harder to care.

"You weren't there so don't you dare try to lecture me," Gordon said.

John shook his head. "Whatever. I'm mad but we have work to do."

"I didn't judge you for your past, son, so give me the same chance."

After a moment, John nodded. "Fine."

-.-

After the military set up the barricade, the reality of their situation sunk in. They weren't going anywhere any time soon. John still hadn't returned to the orphanage. He knew he wasn't welcome, and he still wasn't sure if he was being followed or not. The last thing he wanted to do was bring his enemies down the kids' heads.

That didn't stop him from dropping off food and extra gas he was able to get his hands on at their doorstep.

Five days in after the barricade had been set up, Gordon still wasn't allowing him to meet with the others. He wasn't sure if it was because Gordon didn't trust him or the rest of the force didn't. During those five days, the electricity came back twice, long enough for John to send Gordon's message to the government, and one to Dom. He sent them from an abandoned apartment duplex, so that even if it were traced, he would be long gone.

John had thought long and hard about dragging Dom into the mess. The man had finally got what John had been struggling for the last few months, but at the same time, Talia had been Dom's wife. He owed it to the man to give him true closure if he wanted it. The message to Dom was simple and to the point.

_Mal's alive. In Gotham. Send help. _

-.-

"So do we have a plan?" John asked.

He and Gordon were sharing a meal of microwaved soup in the bathroom, not willing to risk the main lights. Over the last few days, John had observed the looters' method of marking houses that had been raided, and had mimicked the red X on Gordon's door. Sure, it kept the looters away, but only if it looked abandoned, so once night fell, they were secluded to rooms without windows.

"Possibly. Rumor has it that the military has found a way to sneak some men in, but it will be a long while before they can confirm it," Gordon said. "We were able to get a message through when the power came on last night."

John's jaw tightened. "Did you use a secure line?"

Gordon shook his head. "No time. We used what we had."

"You're going to want to move your hide out then. Bane's men were tracking it. They probably were waiting for you guys to try and send something," John said.

"And you know this _how?_" Gordon sounded like he was losing his patience but John couldn't bring himself to care. They couldn't afford such casual mistakes.

"Because Eames and I used a similar tactic to track some of our marks. My connection is secure and encrypted, and I send my messages from a random area and immediately ditch it, and I don't keep a pattern to my locations. Bane _can_ crack the messages I've sent eventually, but it would take him months," John said. He set his empty bowl down on the floor. "So we stick with my way. Unless you don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you," Gordon said, scoffing.

"Really? Because I don't think you do. Why won't you let me work with you guys? Do you think I'm going to bail and spill everything to Talia and Bane?"

"Dammit, John, you're injured! We can't afford to have one of our most valuable members of the team being seen with us!" Gordon shouted.

The man's anger surprised him, almost as much as his actual words. "You don't have to worry about this. I've been through worse, I can handle myself."

"Like you handled yourself down in the sewers?"

"I did better than any of your men could've. They didn't learn a damn thing from me about the force, but that wasn't really there goal. Talia only cared about making me hurt," John said. "Just...let me help. If I get caught, I'd die before I said a word."

"And if they tried to...do that dream type work on you?" Gordon asked.

"On the off chance that they tried, I'd be able to fight them off. But honestly, they'll be too busy running everything else to bother dragging any of down into a dreamscape," John said.

"I suppose...we can bring you on board. You saying we should move our base of operations, then?"

"Definitely. I'd expect the place to be raided with in the next few days. Have you established contact with the cops trapped underground?" John asked.

"Not yet. Bane's men, and the citizens, they're all sending rations down to them though," Gordon said, a bit surprised. "I honestly wasn't expecting that. I figured they would let them stay down there to rot."

"They aren't here to kill us," John said. "They're trying to teach the people of Gotham, people everywhere really, a lesson. I can probably find a way to get in touch with Ross though. I'll try some things over the next few days, if you insist on not having me around with the other cops."

"John, I already said you can start showing up," Gordon said. "But it would be a good idea to establish contact with the ones trapped underground. We'll get a team on it, to do some of the legwork so you aren't out running around so much."

"Running around is all I've been doing anyways," John said.

Gordon rolled his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. "Yes, and what good has that done in making sure you heal up alright?"

John shook his head, a smile of his own twitching at his lips. "You make a good point. I'll start drafting up some ideas to get in contact with the others. We'll need to start tracking the movements of Bane's men, and set up a courier system as well."

Gordon's eyebrows lifted. "You been thinking about this a lot?"

"I've been in situations like this," John said with a shrug. "Down in the dreams. Same logic applies really. They're going to settle in their own base, we should do the same."

"I wish you hadn't gone and gotten yourself hurt, John. You've got some good insight," Gordon said. "Try and rest up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll try."


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry this chapter took so long, and sorry it's on the short side. The next chapter probably won't be fot another two months unless we get really lucky. Don't count on that. I hope you all like it, feedback as always is greatly appreciated. Much love. I don't own the Dark Knight or Batman or Inception. **

Father Riley stared at John, lips in a hard line.

"Absolutely not."

John nodded. "I figured, but it couldn't hurt to ask, I guess."

"Why you would think for a second I would agree to..." Father Riley shook his head. "But I suppose using kids for your own gain is something you're willing to do."

John refused to let the hurt show, instead keeping his jaw locked. "You know that's not true. I'm not going to do anything that would get them hurt."

"Oh? And have them be couriers for this..._rebellion_, or whatever you want to call it, isn't dangerous?" Riley's fist pounded against the wood of his desk.

"No. Bane's men will shoot us, sure. Kids? I don't think so. My job is to _know_ people, or it was. Eames and Mal were always Talia and Bane. Sure, they had me fooled, but at their core, they're the same," John said. "They won't let their men shoot kids. Adults are already corrupt. They won't destroy the one bit of innocence Gotham has left."

For a moment, John thought Father Riley was going to cave and agree, but then he shook his head. "What you're suggesting would destroy that innocence you keep trying to tell me you want to protect."

"These boys aren't as innocent as the rest of the world thinks. You and I know better," John said.

"No. Find some other group to use, or train your cops. I appreciate the help you've given us so far, but you can't ask this of us," Father Riley said.

"That's okay. I'm not going to stop helping you though. I'm not that vindictive," John said. "Unless you don't want my help."

"John-"

"No, wait. Let me finish," John said. "If I hadn't broken into your office and waited for you here, we still wouldn't be talking and I'd still be _anonymously _be leaving you food and gas. I know that what I told you...you can't possibly look at me in a positive light anymore. I don't see me in a positive light either. So I get it, if you don't want my help."

He stopped and turned his gaze down. Father Riley was the closest thing to a parent he had, and he knew what he had done with his life probably came as a disappointment. That didn't mean he wanted to see that sentiment reflected in the other man's eyes.

"You've read me wrong, John," Father Riley said after a moment. "I don't think you're a bad person, I never did, even after...everything you've told me. You're a good person, capable of doing bad things for what you think is a just cause. I'm cautioning you so you won't lose your head chasing justice."

John stared at him, trying to process that Father Riley _didn't_ want him to disappear. "So you're trying to be my conscience? Is that it?"

"Trying?" Riley chuckled. "I think I am. That was always your biggest problem, growing up. You excused your actions because you were doing the 'right thing'. But sometimes it only looks like the right path."

"Guess I'm lucky I've got you around, huh?" John asked. He felt a bit better.

"I guess so. You know John, I am not disappointed with what you did when you left Gotham," Father Riley continued. "You made something of yourself. I think, on some level, you're still trying to. You want recognition for your deeds, don't you?"

"What?" John shook his head. "I spent my life working behind the scenes. I don't want _credit_ for being a good person."

"I think we all want to be recognized, John." Father Riley shrugged. "I could be wrong, but I know you quite well. It's like you said; this Eames and Mal, they aren't the same people as these criminals trying to take apart our city, at least not on the surface. But at their core, they are one and the same. You may have been Arthur, and you're John now, but I think deep down you know who you really are."

"Do I?" John asked. It was a genuine question. He wasn't sure if he had the same faith in himself that Father Riley did.

"If you don't yet, I have no doubt that you will find out soon."

-.-

The rest of the day, John spent his time developing a courier system, tracing routes on numerous copies of maps for Gordon to use with his men. He and Gordon met up briefly in the man's house to share a quick, cold lunch before they both stood up to leave.

"Is the main hospital still in operation?" John asked as he pulled on his jacket.

"Yes, though the amount of actual nurses and doctors operating there is much smaller than we'd like. Why?" Gordon asked.

"Those boys that we ended up saving a while back, the ones that went missing? I need to figure out just what Sara was testing them for. She said something about testing them for powers, but I'm not quite sure I buy what she told us," John said. "It doesn't match up with everything else that's happened."

Gordon shrugged on his jacket, not seeming to follow John's logic. "Who says it has anything to do with the rest?"

"You told me we're not allowed to believe in coincidences anymore," John said. "There must be something about them that connects to everything else that's happened." He slid a manila folder across the table towards the Commissioner. "I compiled a map of routes for couriers to take. Back alleys mostly, and from what I've seen so far, Bane's men mostly ignore the routes I created."

Gordon picked the file up and tucked it into the folds of his jacket. "You realize his men will be all over the hospital, right? They're bound to recognize you."

"I'll be fine. Do you know where the force will be meeting tonight?"

"Not yet. Probably in the basement of the old repair shop on 24th. I'll get word to you if it changes." Gordon headed for the back door. "Be careful out there, John."  
"You too." John waited a while before leaving, using the time to check his laptop repeatedly to see if the Internet was working so he could check to see if Dom had replied. After an hour of failure, he left to head out for the hospital. He knew Bane's men patrolled around outside the building, but he doubted they would bother to waste resources by having men inside.

Sneaking in was a simple matter of timing, and once he was in, making sure he blended in, two things he excelled at. Gordon had been right. When he made it inside, there was only one nurse at the front desk, and the building was near silent. Upon approaching the desk, the woman looked up, pushing her brown hair out of the way of her tired green eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah," John said. "I'm looking for some patients. They would've been checked in before...well, all of this. There would have been thirteen of them."

"Oh, those boys that went missing. Some cop found them, right?" she asked, her expression curious.

"Good memory," he said.

She got to her feet. "Well, those boys, they've certainly been through a lot, and while they have come a long way in healing their bodies, mentally, they have a long way to go." She pushed past him and began to lead the way down the right hand hall.

"You seem to know a lot about them," John said.

"I did a lot of work with them. I'm a therapist," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Though I'd say I'm pretty proficient at being a nurse now too. Not a lot of staff stayed on, so I had to take on some new responsibilities."

"Why did you stay?" John asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Honestly?" She stopped and turned to face him. "Because they were going throw those boys out on the street because they didn't want to waste resources on those deemed physically fit. I was told if I took on the responsibility of their care, they could stay." Her gaze was hard, as though she were waiting for some form of judgment.

"So that's why they're still here. I wasn't sure if they would be," John said. "Thank you. For taking care of them."  
"Not a problem," she said, an odd expression on her face. "How do you know them?"  
"I volunteer at the orphanage they went missing from," John said. "Or at least, I used to."

"That's nice of you. They'll be happy to see you, I hope," she said. She paused outside a closed door. "Isaac and Luke are through there. They were awake last I checked."

"Thank you," John said. "I'll let you get back to...whatever it is was you were doing." He didn't wait for her reply, instead moving through the doorway and shutting it behind him.

He didn't really recognize them, which he supposed wasn't surprising. The situation they had last met under hadn't been ideal. They were older than Jacob, probably in the middle age wise in Sara's experiment. The one closest to him had long brown hair, the other a short buzz cut of blond fuzz. The nurse had said they were deemed physically fit by the rest of the staff. If severely malnourished counted as physically fit, John didn't _want_ to see the other patients in the hospital. They were both visibly weak, skin pale, almost grey.

"Which one of you is Luke?" John asked.

The one on the bed closest raised his hand, but didn't speak.

"You're that cop that found us," Isaac said, pushing himself up a bit. "Right?"

John grabbed a plastic chair by the door and dragged it in between the two beds. "Yeah, but as far as your nurse is concerned, I know nothing of law enforcement. Clear?"  
Both Luke and Isaac nodded their assent, no clarification needed.

"So why are you here?" Luke asked.

"I need to ask you about _what_ the woman who kidnapped you wanted. Specifically," John said.

"You want us to try and remember that far back?" Isaac reclined in his bed, eyes closing. "Sorry. Everything is muddled for me."

"She did tell us," Luke said. "Sort of. She said something about locking up a personality, and something called Limbo." Luke was frowning, his gaze unfocused as he struggled to remember. After a moment, he shook his head. "That's all I can remember. Does that...help?"

John nodded. "It's...something. Would you be willing to go back under to see if we could find more in your sub-conscious?" It wouldn't be him of course. Hopefully, Dom would be able to do something if he showed up.

"No. You're not doing that to any of us." Isaac had sat up once more, blue gaze burning when his eyes met John's. "We spent years in that hell hole. You're not dragging any of us back. Not willingly at least."

"Speak for yourself," Luke said. "I...yeah. I would. I owe you that much at least. I don't know what you're trying to do, but if I can help, I will."

"Thank you," John said. "Do you think any of the others will know something?"

Luke shook his head. "The older ones don't talk. Jacob might have known more but he left a few days ago."

"He means yesterday," Isaac corrected. He didn't open his eyes, and his face had turned away from John. "Jacob left yesterday. Luke's sense of time is still off."

"It's not that bad," Luke said.

"You seem to have yourself held together pretty well," John said. "Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

Isaac turned to look at him once more. Everything about him seemed to radiate anger. "Even if I could pull out details without becoming an emotional fucking wreck, I'm still a kid. I don't owe you _anything_. Sure, I aged down there, but up here, I'm still a teenager, and I'm reserving the right to not owe anyone a god damn thing."

John was silent as Isaac flung himself onto his side to face away from him. The anger burning up inside the younger was all too familiar, something he had experienced first hand. Guilt settled low in his stomach. He couldn't force Isaac into the battle, and he would be betraying everything he was trying to work for if he corrupted the last shred of childhood Isaac could cling to. He didn't want to do that, not after everything Father Riley had said.

"I'm sorry. You're right," John said. "You don't owe me or the rest of the world a single thing. It's up to you if you're willing to help, and if you aren't, I'm not going to be mad and the world won't end."

"I still want to help," Luke said.

"And that's okay. And it's also okay if you don't want to help, Isaac," John said. "I'll be back in a few days. If you still want to help, Luke, you can come with me then. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Luke said with a nod.

John got to his feet and dragged the chair back towards the door. "If anyone asks, I was never here. That's more for your safety than my own. I'm a cop, and Bane and his men aren't big fans of cops."

"Neither are we," Isaac said. "They always treated us like shit, and they never looked for us."

"I'm a cop. And I looked for you. And I found you. You might not owe me anything, but you have to at least acknowledge that I'm not like the others."

Neither Isaac nor Luke said anything for a few strained moments. Then, Isaac said, "No. You're nothing like a cop. I don't know why you keep pretending you are."

John opened the door, head bowed. "Yeah. I don't know why either."

-.-

Gordon paused outside the door leading into the repair shop. John had met him a few hours after leaving the hospital, and he had to give them credit for picking a place that was inconspicuous and unlikely to be stumbled upon by Bane's men.

"Foley is here already," Gordon said. "So with the two of us backing you, there won't be much protest, at least not tonight."

"I thought I was just giving you the courier routes," John said.

"Well, you are the best to organize this, like you said. Foley and I will follow your lead on what to do and how to organize the forces we have. We'll take care of the more minute details on actually making it work," Gordon said.

"I'll try not to seem too uppity then."

Gordon's lips twisted into a half smile. "Your effort is much appreciated."

For the most part, the meeting went well. Foley and Gordon picked the best men to be couriers, and John taught them how to blend in on the streets. Most cops didn't understand it. They never had to before, because in Gotham the badge meant power and protection. Not anymore. The couriers would have to know how to move quickly and efficiently without attracting attention among the criminals.

After a two-hour crash course on what was essentially forging in the real world, John was fairly confident in their abilities. They were far from stupid, and given the city they had once protected, they had more experience than most.

Once everyone left, Foley, Gordon, and John sat around the table, the map of Gotham stretched across its surface. Foley seemed lost in thought, eyes unfocused, but John didn't pay it any mind.

"We need to find a way to establish contact with the cops trapped under there," Gordon said. "Any ideas?"

John stood up, leaning over the table with his eyes tracing over where Foley had previously marked out the circle of bombs used to trap the police force. He checked for possible entrances to the sewer on the map. The outflows would no doubt be guarded, and the same with more obvious exits and entrances.

"Where do they let the food down to the cops?" John asked.

Gordon grabbed a stray pen off the table and marked an area near the middle of the city. "At this point, I'm guessing most of the cops are around this area." He drew a smaller circle.

"Alright. If we let down some string with paper and a pen through a grate, we can communicate that way. We'll have to find an opening that isn't heavily patrolled by Bane's men, but close enough to the center that someone on the force will see it," John said. "I can give it a shot tomorrow."

"Not like that you aren't," Gordon said, gesturing at the cast on John's arm.

"I'll be fine."

Gordon didn't protest further, but his expression made it clear that he wasn't fully on board. "Let us know how it goes. If we can establish contact, we can get them out."

"You're tracking the trucks with the bomb in it, aren't you?" John asked.

"We have been since they've rolled out. You don't have to worry about that yet," Gordon said. "Foley? Anything else you want to add or can we go?"

Foley shook his head quickly, straightening in his chair. "I'm not coming back."

John's eyebrows rose. "What?"  
"I'm quitting. I can't do this anymore," Foley said.

"Why not?" John asked.

"I have family," Foley said, gaze flicking between them. "I watched two of my men be dragged to Bane's court today and killed. I can't let that happen to me. I have a family to protect."

"It won't happen to you," Gordon said. "Protecting Gotham comes first."

"For you two maybe. You don't _have_ families," Foley said. His tone was bitter and he stood up with wooden and stiff movements. "I'm done with this. Good luck. But I'm done."

He walked out before Gordon or John could formulate a response. John ran a hand through his hair, a sigh blowing out past his lips.

"So now what do we do?" John asked.

"I'll let you know as soon as I do."

-.-

Selina was careful now. Sure, Talia had let her go with no hard feelings, but she was still waiting for the knife in her back. When she went to gather food for herself and Lauren, she went at night, stealing into abandoned houses and grabbing anything still left, still good. As she emerged from one such house, there was a shout and a rattle of quick, rapid gunfire. Every instinct in her ordered her to run the other way while Bane's men were distracted, but her curiosity got the better of her.

The area she was in rarely got any activity. There were several areas of Gotham that had been entirely abandoned, and she hadn't heard a scuffle, let alone gunfire in the area in weeks. She stole up to the low rooftops and followed her ears. She ended up crouched over a small alleyway, watching as a man and woman fought against a full patrol of six men. Every once in a while, a gun was fired, but otherwise the two seemed to handle themselves just fine.

Eventually, there was only one left, backing away as he raised his gun. Selina reacted without thinking, leaping off her roost and smashing one foot into the gun, and the other into his head. The gun went flying and the man went down hard. Selina bent over him, slashing through his neck with a knife drawn from her boot in one clean motion. They couldn't afford anyone going back and talking after all. When she looked up, the man had his own gun drawn, trained on her head. She stood up slow, hands out.

"So I help you guys out and you point a gun at me? How rude," she said, eyebrow arching as she assessed them.

The man had fought well but he didn't appear to be in the best of shape. He was broad shouldered, and from the dim light of the street lamps, she could tell his hair was sandy blond, possibly streaked with grey. The woman was a lot shorter, with dark brown hair that tumbled down around her shoulders. She was slight in frame, but Selina had seen her flip one of Bane's men over her shoulder. There was a backpack strapped around her shoulders as well.

"We can't be too careful," the man said. "Took us a while to get in after all."

"To get _in_?" Selina's arms folded across her chest. "What kind of crazy are you two?"

"Not crazy. We just have business here," the woman said. She stepped forward, hands tightening on the straps of her bag. "We're looking for someone. Maybe you know him."

"It's a huge city," the man said. "She's not going to know him."

The woman glanced back over her shoulder. "You saw her fight. She's far from ordinary. Maybe she knows something."

"If I could interject," Selina said, offering a comforting smile. "I know a bit about pretty much everyone. Besides, you've caught my interest. I'd love to help you out." And she could always use more powerful allies.

The woman turned back towards her. "We're looking for a guy named Arthur. He's a cop, new, came in a few months ago."

"Oh." Selina's smile stretched into a grin. "He and I just happen to be _very_ good friends. It's your lucky day."

"How do we know we can trust you?" the man asked.

"I'm not sure you have much of a choice at this point," Selina said with a shrug. "Those street lamps won't be on for very much longer. They never are. If you want to wander through Gotham in the dark all on your own, be my guest."

"Don't be stubborn," the woman said, nudging the man with her foot before stepping towards Selina. "Lead the way."

"First, your names," Selina said.

"I'm Ariadne," the woman said.

"Dom," the man offered as he tucked his gun away into his jacket.

"And I'm Selina. Pleased to make your acquaintance." She winked at Ariadne and then turned on her heel. "Keep close. Would hate to see you guys run into more trouble."

"Unsurprisingly, I'm not comforted," Dom said.

"I heard that," Selina said.

"Good."


	14. Chapter 14

**Look I'm back! With a nice long chapter and everything. I hope you all like it. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Also, I'm slowly migrating over to Archive of Our Own. Tons of stories have been posted over there that aren't posted here. I have the same username if you want to search for me. I don't own the Dark Knight or Inception. Enjoy.**

John was the first one back to Gordon's house. Gordon had mentioned he was going to swing by Foley's to make one last bid for the Chief to stay on the force. When he reached the door, he paused, noting that it was ajar. He eased his gun out and nudged the door open fully. One step in and he was being flipped onto his back, gun knocked away with a harsh kick to his good hand. Selina bent down over his chest, brown hair like a dark curtain around them.

"We have to stop meeting like this," she said.

He twisted his leg around hers to throw her off balance and in one fluid motion had them flipped, the hard cast around his arm pressed to her throat. "Give me one _good_ reason for me to not snap your neck right now."

Selina managed a grin despite the rough cough the pressure on her throat caused. "I brought friends. You should be thanking me."

John eased up, getting to his feet and then kicking the back door shut. By the time he had grabbed his gun, Selina was back on her feet. "Where are they? And how did you even know where I was?"

"I kept tabs on you," Selina said. "You know, keep your friends close, your enemies closer, all that."

"Are we enemies?" John asked.

"I don't know. You're the one who can't make up your mind," she said. "They're upstairs, by the way. You want me to turn on the generator?"

"Yeah. It's in the basement. Don't turn on any lights though," John said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know more about hiding in plain sight than you do," she said. "I put them in the bedroom that doesn't have windows, so you'll be fine."

She darted away, fading completely into the shadows of the house. John moved to the stairs and clicked the safety off of his gun. The whole situation felt wrong, like a trap, and given Selina's track record of making his life more difficult, he figured it was best that he was prepared. He knew the room she was talking about, and as he entered, his bad hand reached out to click on the light.

"Dom? Ariadne?" The names felt unfamiliar on his lips, but their expressions, a mix of happiness and apprehension was enough to bring a smile, the first real one in a long while, to his face.

Ariadne was across the room in a heartbeat, arms wrapping tight around him. "You complete idiot! You scared us with that stupid message!"

He held her close, mind still racing to catch up with the fact that they were actually there, they had actually come to help. He released her slowly, eyes rising up to meet Dom's.

"You have a lot you need to explain," Dom said quietly. "But that can wait for now."

"I don't think it can," he said.

"Arthur, please," Ariadne said. "It's late anyways."

He recoiled a bit at the name. "I...I'm not Arthur. Not anymore. I'm sorry."

Her hands cupped his face, and he couldn't help but lean into them. "I know. You don't need to apologize."

"Well this is touching, but the Commissioner will be back soon," Selina said from behind them. "I'll be leaving. No thanks necessary."

"Thank you, regardless," John said. "Can I trust you? At least not to tell the others we're here."

Selina nodded without a beat of hesitation. "But you owe me. And I will collect on that eventually."

"Fair enough," he said.

She gave a quick wave and vanished from the doorway, leaving John to turn back and deal with the physical manifestation of his past.

"Shall we sit?" he offered. He closed the door and then slid down to sit against it.

Dom and Ariadne sat across from him. When he looked at Dom, the man's face was a closed and locked book. He wasn't used to it.

"So. Mal is alive?"

John sighed, head thumping back against the door. "I would never lie to you about this, you know that."

"No," Dom said. "I know _Arthur_ would never lie to me. I don't really know who I'm look at right now."

"Dom," Ariadne said. "He's still the same person."

"No, Ariadne, I'm really not," John said. "It's okay. We'll probably run across her eventually but until then, Gordon has police reports on her. She was on the executive board of Wayne Enterprises. Will that suffice as proof?"

"For now," Dom said. "What exactly is going on? The news is scattered and vague at best."

John paused, tilting his head to the side. For all Dom's posturing that he didn't believe him, didn't trust him, he took quite a risk jumping into a situation he didn't know all of the details about. Usually, he did a good job to make sure he knew the situation before he went in. Perhaps, on some level, he still viewed John as Arthur. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Well, the quick version would be that Eames is Bane, Mal is Talia, and they used us for years to exact a stupid plan to teach humanity a lesson," John said.

Dom's expression was impatient, thinly veiled anger in his eyes. "How about you tell us the long version? We have time."

John took a deep breath and obeyed.

-.-

About half way through, Gordon returned. The Commissioner turned off the generator and replaced the lights with candles and flashlights. He added what was relevant as John relayed everything, and the silence that filled the room after he spoke of Talia and what she had done to teach Bane a lesson made his chest tighten. Ariadne broke the uncomfortable silence by rising to her feet and crossing the distance between them to sit beside him.

"Keep going."

So he did. Gordon left to retrieve the files they still had on Talia for Dom to examine. In the dim light of the candles, it was easy to pretend that none of them saw his tears. It was a full two hours before John had fully caught them up, and by the end of it, Dom lost the angry edge of his gaze. He left the room with a quiet mumble that he needed time to think and that he would take the couch. Gordon left soon after, leaving Ariadne, John, and a dying candle on their own.

"Maybe you and Dom are too close to this," she said slowly. "If what you said about Eames and Mal is true, and I _do_ believe you, than how can the rest of us be sure you're emotions won't cloud your judgment?"

"I'm not going to let my emotions rule over my logic," John said. "And neither will Dom. Not with this many lives riding on us holding it together."

Ariadne shook her head. "You haven't seen the inside of Dom's mind. You don't know how strongly he's still clinging to her. And I know you're like that with Eames. Can you do this?"

"Gotham's my home, Ari. Not just now. This is where I came from," John said. "And Eames...Bane is threatening that. I'll kill him myself if there's no other choice."

"I don't think you can," Ariadne said. "You loved Eames. I think you still do, and I think he loves you too."

"What are you trying to do? Convince me not to take them out and safe Gotham?"

"I just don't want you to do something you regret," she said.

John shook his head. "If I can save this city, I won't regret it."

-.-

The following morning, Dom, Ariadne, and John sat around the breakfast table, the PASIV on the table between them. Gordon had long ago left to continue tracking the progress of the trucks and see if they could establish contact with the cops in the sewers. John would have done it, but Dom and Ariadne's arrival made him concede that it was best if someone else did it.

"So what's our plan?" Dom asked.

"Still working on that part," John said. "I mentioned Sara last night. The kids she kidnapped are still in the Gotham hospital. We do have permission to take them back under and figure out _exactly_ what Sara was testing."

"We," Ariadne said. "As in you'll be joining us?"

"I'll stay up top, keep the room secure. I can't go back under," John said. "Once we know what Sara was looking to do, maybe we can figure out more about Talia and Bane. I can't shake the feeling that all these pieces are connected."

"We don't know what to look for," Dom said. "You need to go down with us."

"Someone has to keep the room secure," John said.

"I can do that. And Selina said she'd help," Ariadne said.

"We can't trust her," John said. "Not after what she let Talia do."

"You know this city better than we do, so you'll call the shots," Dom said. "But when we find Talia-"

"Dom. We can't let her go," John said.

Dom shook his head. "I was going to say we need to capture her alive, not kill her, no matter what she did to you."

John's eyebrows rose. "You're not going to try and make her come to her senses?" It was what John would expect from Dom. The man was forgiving to a fault, or at least he had been when it came to Mal, but when he met Dom's eyes, he saw only a tired resolve.

"I started my life over, John. Mal is long dead. This Talia? They're not the same, not to me. My emotions aren't going to cloud my judgment. It's you I'm worried about."

John's jaw tightened. "I called you guys in as back up for a reason. I intend to catch Talia and Bane and subject them to the real court of law. Hopefully somewhere in there, we find a way to neutralize the bomb."

"Is there anyone that _does_ know how to neutralize it?" Ariadne asked.

"I don't even know where they got it," John said. "Selina might know something. See if you can get her to tell you. She seems to like you more than me already."

"I'll try," Ariadne said, a small smile on her face.

"Good. So is everyone happy with the plan now?" John asked.

"I expected you to have more information. You may be John _now_, but you were a Point Man at some point. Were you just squandering your skills?" Dom asked.

John got to his feet, fists clenching as he tried to clamp down on the sudden surge of anger. "I was starting over, Dom. I thought maybe you could sympathize with that."

"You knew Bane was a threat when you first saw him! Why didn't you start digging then? There had to have been some clue about what was going on," Dom said, and John could see the man's jaw clenching tight as well.

"I have some files on Bane and Bruce Wayne and-" John stopped, shoulders loosening as realization came over him. "Selina said they turned _it_ into a nuclear bomb. She never said what it was. But Bruce...before all of this, he asked if I could trigger the automatic self-destruct of an energy source if anyone tried to convert it to a weapon. That must be what Bane's men got their hands on."

"It would explain why they went after him in the sewers," Ariadne said with a small shrug. "So how does that help?"

"There was a man," John said, heading for the stairs to head back up to where he kept his bag.

Ariadne followed, hovering at the base of the stairs before calling up. "Okay, and this man did what?"

John rifled through his bag and once grabbing the file needed, headed back down. "He was on the board for Wayne Enterprises, and he developed a lot of the tech. Lucius Fox. If we can find him, maybe we can find out how to convert it back. Even if not, he might be a resourceful man to find, if Bane's men haven't already gotten their hands on him."

"We can look for him while you swing by the orphanage," Ariadne said. "Then meet you back at the Gotham hospital."

John handed the file over to her. "Do what you can. I'll meet you there in two hours. Check Gordon's files for some of the areas around Gotham where we know a lot of people are hiding out. If he's hiding, that'd be one of the best places to do it."

"Alright. Two hours. What room?" Dom asked.

"135." He gave them both a quick nod and then headed out of the house.

John wasn't as alert as he should've been as he headed for the orphanage. If he had, he was sure he would've noticed he was being followed, and as he reached for the window he always snuck through, he ended up with his good arm twisted behind his back and his face shoved against the brick.

"You're skills of stealth come to me as highly overrated," the man said. "I am not sure why my brother would pin his hopes on you."

"Sorry to be a disappointment," John managed through gritted teeth.

"Let's not talk out in plain view, yes?" He pulled John away from the wall and dragged him over to the office building on the other side of the alley, shoving him through the door that had been marked with an X.

It was entirely ransacked, desks overturned and papers scattered everywhere. The man dragged him over to an upright chair and shoved him down in it, and when John finally got a good look at him, all thoughts of a speedy escape left him. The man held a semi-automatic with an ease he himself had never quite mastered. There was a bit of scruff on him, and he was smaller than the strength he displayed would imply.

"And you are who?" John asked, eyes roaming over the man as he gauged his chances of getting out with his head attached.

"Barsad. I am Bane's second in command. I am here to deliver you information," he said. "What you chose to do with it is entirely up to you."

John raised an eyebrow. "What, Bane has suddenly decided to help me?"

"Our sister is not the way she used to be. Bane suspects foul play, and suspects she has something planned for him. I am the only one he trusts with such doubts. We agreed it is best to help you in whatever small ways we can."

"He's doubting himself?" John asked. "He said...I made him wonder."

"I do not have long. I must return to my post, so I would appreciate it if you stop working through your thought process out loud. Lucius Fox is hiding in the hotel on 45th and Baker. A raid is planned for this afternoon to find him, as well as on the hospital," Barsad said.

"Why the hospital?" John asked.

"The subjects of a test Bane hired a dream worker for are there," Barsad said.

"That _Bane_ hired or Talia?" John asked.

"Bane hired them for Talia," Barsad said.

"Do you know what Talia was looking to discover?" John asked.

"It was not my business," Barsad said.

"When is the hospital raid?" he asked.

"This afternoon," Barsad repeated. "Do you intend to try and break the test subjects out as well?"

"They aren't test subjects, they're _children_," John said, getting to his feet.

Barsad's finger tightened on the trigger of the gun, though it wasn't aimed at anything but the ground. "I hope you have enough manpower to reach them both in time."

"You can't call off any of the attacks?" John asked.

Barsad's expression went from neutral to exasperated in less than a second. "Let us worry about what we can do and don't try and tell us how to deal with Talia. You just do what you can with what information we can offer you."

"So can I depend on Bane? On you?"

"I don't know," Barsad said with a cruel smile. "That one is up to you."

The man turned his back, and for a moment, John considered drawing his gun and shooting him in the back. It would be bad payment for the information, though he was pretty sure it was just a trap. In the end, he let the man go without another word. He didn't have time to hide the body even if he wanted to, and maybe another part, a smaller part, didn't want to shoot the one friend Bane might have had.

-.-

In the end, he and Selina made for the hospital while Dom and Ariadne headed for the hotel. Selina was a good distraction for the guards, making John's life a lot easier when he snuck in. Once inside, and heading for the right room, she finally stopped him, grabbing his good arm and dragging him off into an empty room.

"Before we go any further, do we have an actual plan on how we're going to sneak two mostly invalid boys out of this place?" Selina asked.

John shrugged. "I was mostly just winging it. I don't know how much time we have."

"And you are aware that there are possibly men waiting in there to trap us?" she asked.

"Yes, we covered all of that before, and yet you're still here," John said.

She rolled her eyes and glanced away. "Yeah well it would be a shame to watch you get yourself caught again. So are we just going to roll them on out of here, or are we carrying them?"

"Depends on if we get ambushed or not," John said. "Now can we just go or do you have any more questions?"

She pushed the door back open with her hip and made a grand gesture with her arms. "After you."

He continued on his way, easing his gun out of his jacket as they came up on the door the boys would be behind. Selina waited behind him, and when he glanced back at her, she crooked an eyebrow at him.

"Injured or not, you're the Point Man, aren't you?"

John turned back and opened the door, checking the corners quick with his gun and finding it empty of any unwanted visitors, turned his gaze onto the boys. Both of them were staring at him with wide eyes, but it was Isaac who got himself together the quickest.

"Any reason you're waving your gun around our room?"

"We're expecting an ambush," John said, shoving the gun back into his jacket.

Selina hovered in the doorway with her own gun to keep watch as John headed over to Luke's bed. "Hurry up, we can explain it all to them later."

"Right now, we need to get you guys out," John said. He pushed the railings of Luke's bed down and helped him out.

The younger stumbled at first, and winced when John carefully removed his IV and helped him over to stand by Selina. They weren't going to be able to walk very far at all. Next was Isaac, who didn't wince or stumble as his IV was pulled and he was guided over to Selina.

"I'll take point," John said, shooting Selina a glance as he moved past her. "Selina, take up the rear, and if we hit an ambush, you make sure they get out."

"You have a broken arm," Selina said.

"Yeah, but you can actually move them both along quicker than I'd be able to, so don't argue," John said. "I'm the Point Man after all."

Selina rolled her eyes and fell back behind them. They had to move slow, both Isaac and Luke leaning heavily on one another as they walked. John led them down to the stairwell. When he had checked over the hospital last time, he had found a decent way out through the basement. It was a straight down the hall, but with multiple storage rooms to hide, and a way up to the loading dock. The door behind them slammed open and John whirled to see three men coming down after them. Selina was quick, firing off two shots.

"Duck!" John shouted.

Both boys did as ordered and John took two shots of his own, hobbling the last fighter with quick shots to his wrists. He lowered his gun.

"Selina, you..."

Selina turned around, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You killed them."  
"Well I do recognize them from underground. And they were going to kill us." She shrugged.

"Yeah, and I just incapacitated mine. Killing them isn't necessary," John said.

"We don't have time for this! Let's go," Selina said, hand prodding at Luke's back. "Boys, up, we're moving."

John shook his head once and then headed up the stairs, kicking open the door. The loading dock was bare, the garage door firmly closed. "Secure that door." He pointed at the door they had just come through, and Selina parted from them to grab a stack of boxes and a lone, wheeled chair to jam under the handle and stack in front of it.

Isaac and Luke were leaning against the wall, both pale and shaking. John glanced at the door beside the garage and then headed back for them, shoving his gun into his jacket and sliding between them, wrapping both arms as best he could around both of them.

"Selina, check to see if that door's locked. If it is, pick it," he said.

The two boys were shockingly light, and it wasn't too hard to maneuver them slowly towards the door, which Selina was already dealing with. By the time they reached it, she had it unlocked and was holding it open with her foot while checking both sides of the alley with one of her pistols.

"We're clear, if you could hurry up," she said.

The door they came through rattled, but John didn't spare a glance backwards. "Yes, hurrying. Selina?"

"What?" She glanced at him, impatience in her voice.

"Can you hotwire a car?"

Selina tossed her hair over her shoulder, then kicked the doorjamb under the door to hold it open for them. "You're so lucky I'm along for the ride, aren't you?"

"Yes, I appreciate your contributions, now would you go?"

Selina darted down the alley and out of sight and John pushed the boys through the door before kicking the doorjamb out of the way and letting the door slam shut. When he looked back at Isaac and Luke, they had twin expressions of fear hidden under a slowly crumbling mask of indifference.

"You know, it's okay to be afraid. We'll take care of you," John said.

"Sorry, but I won't hold my breath," Isaac said.

John held his arms out before once again taking both of their weights on his shoulders. His bad arm gave a sharp pain of protest but he kept them walking towards the alley Selina had run down. He gave them another thirty seconds before they would be caught.

A car squealed to a halt at the entrance of the alley, a red minivan. They would attract a lot of attention, being one of the only actual cars driving around Gotham, but John wasn't sure they had much of any other choice. When they reached the car, John made sure the other two were mostly secure before climbing in the passenger seat. The door leading out into the rest of the loading dock and alley banged open and without a beat of hesitation, Selina floored it.

"Never thought I'd be doing this in a minivan," Selina said. Another car squealed out from behind a building onto the road behind them. "High speed chase in a minivan. My life gets better and better."

She jerked the wheel hard as John crawled into the back seat, drawing out his pistol and getting his bad arm into a comfortable enough position as he waited for the inevitable gunfire.

"Can you lose them?"  
"Honey, I know the streets of Gotham way better than them."

"Not as well as I do," he said.

"Just shoot if they try anything funny."

Surprisingly, Selina was able to lose them, mostly by taking underground tunnels and back streets, and once they were confident they had no one watching them, they parked the car and scrambled out.

"Where are we?" Isaac demanded.

"Parking garage near where we're taking you," John said. "Selina, what's the best way to get them there without being noticed by anyone on the street?"

Selina pulled her hair back out of her face, tying it up in a ponytail. "Oh, I suppose I could just do my best to draw attention away from you."

John frowned. "You don't have to do that. I don't know why you would."

"Let's just say I'd rather your co-workers stay alive, and the best way to do that is not let Bane's men find out where you're all hiding," she said. "Your friends are more likable than you." She pulled out one of her pistols. "Now, head for the sewers. It shouldn't be more than three blocks back to the house. I'll do what I can to attract their attention to another side of the sewer. Good?"

"We're traveling in the sewers?" Luke asked.

"If you want to live, yes," John said. "Thank you, Selina."

"None of that. I'll see you later. You still have to lecture me about not killing people and all that later." She ran for the stairwell, voice echoing back towards them. "Good luck!"

John turned to Luke and Isaac. "Let's go."

-.-

Getting back to the house took two hours, and by the time they did get back, John had just enough time to get them up into one of the bedrooms before they passed out. He popped a few pain pills from their slowly dwindling supply before heading down to the kitchen to cook something to try and get their strength back up. Luke would need to have as much energy as possible if they were going to get anything out of his mind when they went under.

He was just ladling soup into two bowls when the back door opend and Selina stumbled through, clutching her arm with a clenched jaw and a furious expression in her eyes. She shut the door with her foot and sat down at the table, pulling her shirt off without any warning.

"Do you always strip in someone's kitchen?" John asked

"Only when I have an injury I can't reach when wearing a long sleeve shirt," she said with a flat smile. "Where's your first-aid kit?"

John knocked his foot against one of the cupboards and then headed up the stairs. Isaac and Luke were both stirring, and when he shook them awake, both of their gazes zeroed in on the bowls of soup.

"Actual food," Luke said, grabbing his with eager hands.

"Yeah, what'd they give you at the hospital?" John asked, handing the last one over to Isaac.

"Easier, and cheaper, to keep us hooked up to an IV for nutrients. Had more of those bags than actual food to go around," Isaac said.

"Right," John said. "Eat up, rest. I'll come get you when it's time to take you back under, Luke."

"Why were those men after us?" Isaac asked.

John hovered by the doorway. "They need you for the same reason I do. Only I'm not going to kill you when I'm done exploring Luke's mind. So, if at any time you want to thank me, that'd be great."

He left without waiting for a reply. When he got back down to the kitchen, Selina was just finishing bandaging up her arm and tugging her shirt back on.

"When will the others be back?" she asked.

"Soon. Not more than a half hour, probably less," he said.

Even as he spoke, the door opened and Ariadne walked through, Lucius Fox behind her with Dom bringing up the rear.

"Apparently less," Selina said.

Dom shut and locked the door. "Alright. We gave him the quicker version of what we know on the way here, so maybe we can have a quick talk."

Lucius sat down in between John and Selina while Ariadne went to divide up the rest of the soup into bowls. Dom stayed by the door, tapping his gun against his thigh.

"So, first you appear at my supposedly secure location, tell me one of Mr. Wayne's most trusted board members is the one behind all this madness, and then you drag me all the way out here. Care to explain yourself, Mr. John Blake?" Lucius asked. There was a smile on his face, but John could see the anger in his eyes.

"We have solid proof that Miranda Tate is indeed Talia," John said. "Ariadne, the file is upstairs where we last had it. If you could bring it down for Mr. Fox, that would be appreciated."

"Yeah, on it," she said, pushing a bowl of soup in front of him before heading for the stairs.

Selina got up and grabbed the remaining two, passing one to Lucius and taking the last for herself. She didn't say another word, clearly willing to let John deal with the pissed off board member.

"As for the rest of it, Mr. Wayne contacted me earlier in hopes that I would be able to create an automatic shutdown for his energy source should anyone attempt to turn it into a weapon," John said. "Now who, besides me, Bruce, and yourself know of this energy source?"

"Miranda Tate," Lucius said slowly, straightening in his chair. "I'll still want to see your file."

"Of course," John said.

Ariadne reappeared at his side, passing the file over for Lucius to flip through before moving to sit down beside Selina. "So what else can you tell us about this bomb?"

"It will explode regardless of what the triggerman does," Lucius said as he flipped through the file.

"The triggerman is the random citizen Bane gave the trigger for the bomb too," Selina said before John could ask. "You really should have known that by now, but I suppose a Point Man is mostly useless without his computer."

"Your input is greatly appreciated," John said dryly. "Is there any way to stabilize the bomb?"

"If we can get it back to where Mr. Wayne was originally storing it, than yes," Lucius said. "Otherwise, all we can do for now is block the signal from the trigger to the bomb. If I can get access to the correct tools, that shouldn't be too hard, especially with the resources the police have."

"So you'll help us?" John asked.

Lucius closed the file and set it down beside his bowl of soup. "That bomb, and Miranda Tate, are both my responsibility now that Mr. Wayne is gone. I have no doubt that he will return, but for now, I will do what I can to make sure the situation he returns to is somewhat favorable."

"Do you know where Talia is?" Dom asked, peeling away from the doorframe.

"She comes and goes," Lucius said. "She hasn't been around in a few days. I was worried she finally got caught, but I couldn't risk going to look for her and getting myself caught as well."

"We'll keep you here for now," John said. "Unless you have any objections?"

"I suppose staying with your little band of rebels is safer than a random hotel," Lucius said. "The food is a bit better as well." He spooned a bit of it into his mouth and leaned back in his chair. "I'll write up a list of what I'll need."

"I can get it," Selina said, getting to her feet. "You have to do...whatever it is you plan to do with those two boys."

"Not quite sure I trust you, yet," John said.

"I saved your ass out there," Selina said, her neutral gaze turning to a glower. "So how about you stop letting our past get in the way and let me help? I'm not too keen on letting myself get blown up, alright?" She grabbed her empty bowl and slammed it down in the sink before letting her hands curl around the edge of the counter, not looking at any of them.

"You two should go," Ariadne said, hand squeezing John's shoulder. "I'll explain everything else to Lucius."

John got to his feet and headed for the stairs. "Fine."

-.-

"So what do you remember from being under?" John asked as he dragged a chair over to Luke's bedside. "Do you remember how to create a dreamscape?"

Dom set the PASIV down on the end of the bed. "You're going to make him the dreamer?"

"He knows he's going under, and he's been under longer than anyone I've known. He'll have better control then others would," John said before turning his attention back to Luke. "So, do you?"

"Yeah," Luke said, rubbing his arm.

"Good," John said. "I want you to dream up the place you feel safest," John said as Dom unwound one of the IVs. Luke tensed but kept his gaze fixed on John. "I want you to pour all your memories in there. Every single one. You're going to lead Dom and I around until we find the one we need. You have to be careful not to let us into any memory that's dangerous."

Luke nodded. "Okay."

Dom slid the IV in and once Luke had fallen asleep, turned to glare at John. "Memories are dangerous, John, you know that."

"We'll be fine," John said. "Looking for information written down in a book or on a piece of paper would take too long. If we have him build up a physical form of his subconscious, we can be a lot quicker, and a lot more accurate."

"You said it wouldn't be dangerous," Isaac said from the other bed.

"It won't be dangerous for Luke," John said, glancing over his shoulder as Dom pushed the IV into his good arm. "He'll be safe. It's Dom and I that are going to have to be careful because his projections are going to attack us. Don't worry. I'm not going to let anything hurt either of you again."

He could see the stubbornness, the inability to really trust him, in Isaac's eyes. He wasn't surprised, or offended, but before he could say anything, he was down in the dream. Luke was standing to his left, no longer pale and sickly, staring up at the large, towering building before them.

"What is this place?" John asked.

"The orphanage," Luke said. "I just...have a lot of memories to store away, so it's a bit bigger than normal."

Dom appeared on the other side of Luke. "Let's get started."

Luke glanced between them and headed in. So far, there were no projections, a possible side effect of being so in tune with the dreamscape or something else entirely John wasn't sure. He palmed his pocket for his totem, but then left it there and made sure to keep up with Luke.

When they first entered the building, the whole structure rumbled, and there was a muffled cry for help that seemed to echo through their minds. Both he and Dom exchanged a look and then glanced down at Luke. The younger didn't seem perturbed, and instead headed for the staircase that led down.

The building moaned.

The hallway they ended up in was lit by flickering lights, casting most of it in shadow. Luke hesitated in front of one of the doors, hand running over the handle of it before glancing up at John.

"What happens if this isn't right?" he asked. "The ones down here are all bad..."

"Was the memory we're looking for bad?" Dom asked.

Luke nodded. "I can't tell which one is right though."

John eased his gun out of his jacket before looking Luke in the eyes. "Whatever is down here Luke, they're just memories. We aren't going to let them hurt you, not again. Okay?"

Luke swallowed thickly then turned to face the door. "Right." He shoved it open.

There was a scream of rage and then a gunshot. Dom pulled Luke back and John swung in front of them both, not hesitating to put a bullet through the head of the man that had tried to charge through the door. He hesitated only a moment, peering inside the room to see a woman that looked astonishingly similar to Luke lying in a pool of blood on the floor. He swung the door shut.

The building shook and when John turned to look at Luke, the kid was pressed into Dom's arms, shaking.

"Luke. We have to keep going," John said. "We have to know the truth."

"I know, I know!" Luke pulled away from Dom after another moment and then began to head down the hallway, shoulders hunched.

"John," Dom said, grabbing John's sleeve and tugging him close. "If this dream collapses, I don't think he'll make it out."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Before...after Mal died, I made an elevator. Each floor had a memory of her," Dom said quietly. "I couldn't hold many of them. He has an entire building. If he gets too scared, this whole thing could come crashing down. It's his subconscious, John. If it comes down, so does his mind."

"Then we'll be very careful," John said.

He looked back at Luke. The younger paused at each door, touching the handle and easing it open slowly before slamming it shut once more. Sometimes, he didn't seem too troubled. Others, a crack would appear in the wall, the floor, or the ceiling.

A door behind them banged open and Luke whirled around, panic on his face. A screaming wind tore through the hallway as John and Dom turned, guns raised. The man from before was charging down the hallway, fists clenched tight as he gave a wordless shout.

John didn't hesitate in emptying the whole chamber into him until he dropped to the floor. "Luke, keeping going. And hurry."

"Y-Yeah."

"These projections are real people," Dom said. "That means they could try and stop us. They have enough knowledge, have a strong enough connection to Luke, to be able to know what we're trying to do."

"It's too late, now, Dom, just...stop worrying, that'll make it worse," John said.

Luke paused in front of one of the doors, hand pressed tight to the middle of it. "This is it."

"Go ahead," John said.

Luke twisted the handle, and all at once, every door in the hallway slammed open, the howling wind whipping through the corridor. Projections lurched through and began to head towards them, armed with knives, fists, and guns.

"Get inside!" Dom shouted.

John hauled Luke through and Dom shut the door tight behind them, locking it. When they all turned around, it was to see a younger Luke being dragged across the floor by Sara. They were in the basement from before, but none of the projections had yet noticed them.

Talia and Bane stood beside one of the beds. Wordlessly, Bane moved over to help Sara heft Luke up onto the bed, holding down his kicking and screaming form, his cries muffled by the gag in his mouth. John reached a hand forward and squeezed his shoulder.

"Has there been any progress with the others?" Bane asked.

"Not yet," Sara said. "What is it that I'm looking for again? Precisely."

"We want to know if we can magnify the abilities down in the dream," Bane said. "See if it is possible to develop new ones."

"Right," Sara said. "None of that I'm afraid. You'd have more luck with trained professionals, not little orphans."

"Trained professionals would be too trapped in their old ways to bother learning new ones," Talia said.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Sara asked. "Not my employer, that's for sure. So shut your mouth."

Bane's hand was around Sara's throat in a second, hauling her over the bed so that she was a few inches away. "You will watch your tone. She may not be your employer, but I am and she is my guest." He shoved her back. "Let us know if you make any more progress."

He headed away from them, turning to glance at Talia.

"I'll be just a moment," Talia said, waving him away.

Bane hesitated another moment before disappearing out a door. Talia walked around the bed to stand in front of Sara.

"Now," Talia said. "I appreciate what you're doing, and I'm sure you'll do just _fine._ But also see if there's any way to...trap a person's personality away."

"And why would I do that?" Sara asked.

Talia eased a hand into her purse and withdrew a check, placing it delicately into Sara's hand. "You've just got yourself two employers. I want to know if it's possible to take a person's personality apart and lock away the bits I don't need. You'll report that only to me. Anything else will go to your main employer, and no one will hear of this, is that clear?"

Sara glanced at the check. "I suppose for that price, it's crystal clear."

"Good."

Talia turned around, but instead of heading out the door Bane took, she turned to face them. A gun emerged from her purse.

"Oh, Dom, it's a pleasure to see you here. And Arthur!"

"What?" Dom glanced at John, drawing his gun.

"I don't know," John said, aiming his at Talia's chest. "Just shoot!"

Talia rolled her eyes and shot twice, rapid fire, hitting both of their wrists. Their guns clattered to the ground as she stepped towards them. "Idiots, both of you. Asking a scared little boy to fill a building with projections just itching to rip his throat out. And a projection that wants nothing more than to put a bullet through both of your brains."

She crouched in front of Dom, hand gripping his jaw tight. "You're a shadow of the man you used to be. Useless."

The gun went off and she kicked him to the side before moving over to John, kicking him back onto the ground when he tried to attack. She leaned over him, gun pressed tight to his temple. The doors around them rattled and the ceiling began to collapse.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she said, pressing the gun to his forehead.

"No!" Luke tackled Talia, rolling with her to the center of the room.

John reached for his gun with his good hand and got to his feet. Luke had Talia pinned, somehow, and when he looked at John, there was determination in his eyes.

"I can't hold this for much longer," he said. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to leave if I went down. Just get out, I'll stop the projections from hurting you!"

"What?" John asked.

"The projections! If you go now, the dream...my subconscious, they'll all just swallow you whole. I protected Dom when he got shot, and if I stay here, I can keep them back from you too, but you have to go now!" Luke shouted.

"I said I was going to protect you!"

Luke shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. When John looked into his eyes, he knew he wasn't looking into the eyes of a kid. Not anymore. "I knew going down here again would kill me. But you got what you wanted. Now use it to save everyone else, okay?"

"I..."

"Go!"

The ceiling caved in as the doors slammed open, and without a second thought, John put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

-.-

When John came to, Ariadne was performing CPR on Luke, who had already been disconnected from the PASIV. Dom was across the room, forehead pressed to the wall, and Isaac was crouched at Luke's bedside, holding tight to his hand. Ariadne pulled back and pressed her ear to Luke's chest. Slowly, she pulled back, shaking her head.

"John...Isaac...I'm sorry. He's gone," she said quietly.

John stared at Luke, his pale, frail hand grasped so firmly within Isaac's. It was like the girl, all over again. So determined to fix something, bring some form of justice to the world, only to have to sacrifice themselves. But they just didn't get it. Not the way John did.

Dreamwork wouldn't bring anyone to justice. It would just leave behind a trail of people, gone too soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the shortness of this chapter but I'm setting things up for a few longer chapters. The story is really going to pick up from here and move faster than the previous chapters have. I think we have 6 more chapters to go, roughly. I don't own Batman, hope you enjoy. Reviews are, as always, loved. **

John apologized to Isaac, though he knew it was hopeless. Isaac wouldn't speak with him, wouldn't look at him, and his actions twisted the knife that was already buried deep in his gut. Ariadne helped him back to the orphanage, and John went with them to properly explain the situation to Father Riley.

Except when he walked into Father Riley's office he froze. The priest looked up at him, waiting for him to say something, but John couldn't make his feet move. He felt like he was a little kid again, ashamed and afraid and angry and wanting someone to point him in the right direction.

"John? Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or tell me why you're here?" Riley asked.

"I uh...I brought Isaac back. I was going to bring Luke back too but he..." John looked down and wiped at his watering eyes before looking back up. "He tried to help us. I went down into his mind to put some more pieces together. Or try to. The strain was too much."

Riley's expression was stone and John let his eyes drop back down to the floor. "So you put your agenda ahead of a boy's life?"

"I know...it's bad. And I will gladly take the punishment for it if I can ever get Gotham out of this mess. I'm so sorry, Father," John said.

"Did you at least get something out of it all?"

"I think so," John said. "Father-"

"You're nothing like the boy I used to know."

John looked up, "Father-"

"No, Robin, stop! Just stop," Father Riley said, getting to his feet as his hands slammed down against the desk. "You do _not_ get to dictate whether or not someone lives or dies just so you can try and play hero!"

John felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. It had been so long since anyone had called him Robin, and the last person to do it had been Father Riley, in an equally angry tone. There wasn't a thread of forgiveness in his voice now though.

"I don't care that you're trying to save the god damned city. If that takes letting _kids_ be sacrificed because you don't know what the hell you're doing, I'd rather let the whole city burn!" Father Riley's hands curled into fists on the desk as he glared up at John.

John could only meet his eyes for a short moment before they dropped back down to the floor. "Father Riley...I'm trying my best."

"You said you weren't going to mess with this..._dream_ business anymore," Riley said. "You're going to do more harm than good at this rate."

"Would you rather I stand by and do nothing? That's not who I am. I was the Point Man. Standing back and letting other people do the work wasn't in the job description," John said. "And being a police officer doesn't let me do that either."

"You're not a police officer anymore, are you though? I don't know who I'm looking at," Riley said with a slow shake of his head.

"I don't know who I am anymore either," John said quietly.

"That's clear enough," Riley said. "To say I'm disgusted with you and what you've become would be an understatement. Get yourself together, and don't drag anyone else down with you. This fight of yours is just that. Yours. Don't get others killed for your search for justice."

"I won't let anyone else try and help, at least not those that aren't already involved," John said. "I can swear that much to you. I can't do that...to anyone else again."

"You say that now," Riley said. "I'll believe it when I see it. Now get out of here. I have boys to take care of, and I can do it without your help."

John gave a short nod and left his office. Ariadne was waiting in the hallway and when they're eyes met, she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. There was no one else around to see them, so he let himself fold down into her firm grip, burying his face in her neck and twisting his hands in her hair as tears began to break free and slide down his face.

"It's going to be okay," she said quietly in his ear. "We're here now. We're going to help. We're going to fix everything. You know we can do it."

"Can we Ari?" He bit down on his lower lip to try and stop the trembling, and once he had himself somewhat composed, he pulled away to look down at her.

"We've done harder things," she said with a strained smile. She wiped away the remaining few tears and then grabbed his hand. "Let's head back and regroup. Maybe Gordon had some luck connecting with the cops."

"Yeah," he said. "I hope."

The sun had already set when they got out of the orphanage, and the first few snowflakes of winter were beginning to fall down from the dark clouds. For a moment, as he and Ariadne walked through the alleys hand in hand with snow sprinkling down around them, he could pretend that everything was normal. It was a nice lie.

When they got back to the house, they had to use flashlights to get up to the second floor. Gordon, Lucius, and Dom were in the spare bedroom with the lights on, a map of Gotham spread out across the floor. Ariadne sat down next to Dom and John took a seat on the other side of her.

"I heard what happened," Gordon said, glancing over at him.

"Let's not talk about it now," John said. "What are we doing right now?"

"I've been keeping an eye on the routes those trucks take," Lucius said, tracing the red lines that crisscrossed all over Gotham. "Some of the tools I asked Selina for will allow me to build a nuclear energy detector. Once we know which truck has the bomb, we can trace over its route in a different color and keep track of it at all times."

"And then we can block the signal, right?" John asked.

Lucius nodded. "There's still the matter of getting our hands on it and getting it back do the stabilizer, but this will buy us some time."

"What about the cops?" John asked, looking back at Gordon.

"We've established contact. If we can find a way to get them out we'll have a fighting chance of actually taking Bane's men down," Gordon said. "I just don't know if we have the fire power to secure a way for them to get out."

"Let's not try and get them all out at once then," Dom said. He pointed at a few of the marked sewer exits the police force could actually reach underground. "These places aren't well guarded. We can knock the guards out, and get ten, twenty men out and then get out before anyone notices."

"We won't be able to use the same exits though after we hit them once," Gordon said. "The next time we try and use those same exits again, they'll be more heavily guarded."

"Maybe not," John said. "I might be able to get back in touch with Bane. He helped us this once. Maybe I can get him and Barsad to leave those areas alone, or at least not station any more people there."

"You want to gamble with a madman?" Lucius asked.

"Not a madman. I know him. And he's already helped us once. Helped us save _you_," John said. "The fact that he helped us once means he's starting to question himself. We should try and use that to our advantage."

"He could easily betray us if we tell him our plan," Dom said. "Just like Talia."

John looked over at him. He could practically see the jealousy in Dom's eyes, the demanding questions. Why would Bane question his goal because of his feelings for John? Why would Bane's love be able to overcome his madness when Talia's love couldn't even scratch the surface of her own plans?

"So we aren't taking that chance?" John asked.

"We can't," Gordon said, glancing over at Dom. "He's right. Just because he helped once doesn't mean he doesn't have an ulterior motive."

John had a feeling in his gut that they were wrong. Against his better judgment, he was beginning to trust Bane. Perhaps he was grasping at straws, desperate for anything familiar now that the ground felt like it was crumbling beneath his feet.

"We should start planning then," John finally said. "They're all highly trained killers. Best if we take them out from a distance."

"I'm a decent enough sniper, and so are you," Dom said. "We can handle the guards, and Gordon can have a team ready to help whoever we can get through."

"It'll take a few days to set things up with Ross. He's the one I managed to establish contact with," Gordon said. "Once we're all set up, we'll go in."

"If that's it then, can we call it a night?" Ariadne asked.

"Might as well. I don't think we can accomplish anything else," Gordon said. He got to his feet and glanced around. "Get some rest. All of you." His gaze lingered on John, and then he left the room.

-.-

The next morning, Selina returned with most of Lucius' supplies. The man took them into the living room where he could see better, though the curtains would keep anyone from seeing inside. Selina leaned against the archway, glancing between John and Lucius.

"There were a few things on that list I couldn't get my hands on. I know Bane's men will have them though. They've been raiding electronic stores and gathering those sorts of things up. I'm not sure if they're just trying to keep it out of the public's hands or if they're building something. I'm not exactly allowed back into home base after all," Selina said.

"Probably the former," Lucius said, examining a few of the batteries Selina had gotten. "They have access to my lab now anyways. Anything they need will be there. Are you sure these aren't dead?"

Selina gave an irritated sigh. "Maybe. I got what I could find, alright?"

Lucius gave her a bemused look. "I am trying to keep us all alive. A little patience and respect would not hurt."

"Well you weren't doing much to save my life, or anyone else's really, until yours was in danger too, so excuse me for not kissing you feet," Selina ground out.

"Selina, stop," John cut in. "Do you think we can get back into the sewer base to get the remaining parts?"

Selina raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest. "You really think it's a good idea to go back down there with me?"

"I'm not seeing much of a choice to be honest. You know the way around there best, and if I can get face to face with Bane or Barsad and figure out what the hell they're playing at, that's not really a bad thing," John said.

"Is that wise, John?" Lucius asked.

"I'm not going to tell them our plans. The worst they could do is torture me," John said.

"Or kill you," Selina said.

"Not too concerned about that bit. Better than letting Talia use me as a punching bag again," John said.

Selina looked away. "So are we going now?"

"Going where?" Ariadne asked as she came down the stairs.

"You're not coming," John said.

"Like hell I'm not," Ariadne said. She put her hands on her hips and met John's gaze with a stubborn stare. "You're planning to do something dangerous and you're injured. I'm coming with you. Dom and Gordon can hold down the fort for a few hours."

"Little back up couldn't hurt," Selina said.

"I'm alright with risking you betraying me, but not her. She doesn't deserve what happened to me," John said.

"God dammit! I'm so sick of you thinking I _wanted_ all that to happen to you," Selina said, stepping close and gripping his shoulders tight. Her eyes were panicked and damp. "You were the closest thing to a friend I had and I'm sorry but I didn't know what I was supposed to do."

John jerked out of her grasp and shoved his anger down as best he could. "It doesn't matter what you feel or say. Actions _always_ speak louder than words. And most of your actions have proven that I can't trust you."

"So give me a chance to prove that you can," Selina said.

"As soon as we outlive our use to you, you'll backstab us. I know that," John said. "I know your type. I know you."

"Don't you dare presume to know me when you don't even know yourself," Selina hissed. "But even if you do stick with your twisted logic, if I'm still here, I'm still on your side and it shouldn't matter why."

"John." Ariadne's harsh tone prevented John from replying and he turned to look at her. "Enough. Fighting isn't going to fix what she did wrong so let's just go do what we need to do, alright?"

For a moment, John wanted to push aside common sense and rip into Selina once more. He needed an outlet for the anger and pain that was trying so hard to rip him apart, but Selina didn't deserve to be the one he took it out on.

"Fine. Let's go."

-.-

Selina did not let them down. They couldn't risk gunshots down in the sewer, not from their own guns and not from their enemies'. John could still fight, sure, but it was pure luck and the element of surprise that let him take down the few men he did. Ariadne could hold her own as well, but she was nowhere near as efficient as Selina was. The burglar was a silent storm sweeping through the twisting paths of the sewers ahead of them, leaving behind the small fry for John and Ariadne to knock unconscious.

As much as John hated to admit it, they would be lost without her. The thought did nothing to soothe the gut-wrenching fear and anxiety that began to build up within him. He knew the path they were taking, had walked it before, but instead of Ariadne beside him, it had been Bruce Wayne, the Batman. And even with the great Batman, they hadn't stood a chance.

Selina paused at a tunnel off the left side of the main one. "Down here is the storage. We should be able to find what we need there."

She turned on her flashlight and began to lead the way. Ariadne was in between them with John bringing up the rear.

"Not so fast."

The cool muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of John's head and he froze. Ahead of him, Selina and Ariadne turned around, guns leveled at his attacker.

"Don't bother. I'm a better and faster shot than either of you," the ma said.

"Barsad?" John asked.

"Just because my brother is willing to help you does not mean I will allow you to walk through our base and injure our people," Barsad said. "But if you were able to take me by surprise, I suppose that would be unfortunate."

"I could never take you by surprise. Just shoot and get it over with," John said.

"Kill him and you're next," Ariadne said, finger twitching on the trigger.

For a moment, John almost didn't recognize her. Years of dreamwork had changed her, he knew that, but he had never seen the hardened and dark look in her eyes for himself.

"Ariadne, stop. Barsad-"

"Either try and take me out, Little Bird, or lay down and let me put a bullet through your head," Barsad said.

_Take him by surprise._ Arthur didn't know how to do surprise. He relied too much on plans to know how. John was just a cop and didn't need the element of surprise to do his job. Robin though...Robin was a fighter, ruled by his anger with an overpowering instinct to do anything to survive. Robin knew pain, understood it, knew how to work through it in ways John and Arthur could never hope to.

Robin whirled and knocked Barsad's gun away with his good arm before swinging up his cast and slamming it towards Barsad's head. Barsad caught it, fingers cracking into the weak cast and twisting. The pain was searing and his arm went limp in Barsad's grasp, but it had served its purpose. A distraction. Robin's good arm came back up, pistol in hand. But he didn't shoot, only whipping it hard against Barsad's skull.

The man dropped like a rock, his grip on John's cast dragging the other to his knees. Pain continued to shoot up and down his arm like sparks as he pried himself loose from Barsad's grip.

"John!" Ariadne was by his side a moment later, fingers flitting over the cracked and damaged cast. "You idiot! Who knows what kind of damage you've done to yourself."

"Just go. If Barsad caught up to us we don't have long and I'd only slow you down if I went with you all the way there," John said. "Get what you need and come back for me. Don't think walking right now is very agreeable." The pain in his arm made his legs feel like jelly and his stomach twisted uncomfortably, like he was going to be sick. He nudged her with his good arm.

"We'll be back soon. Then we'll get out," Ariadne said firmly.

John nodded and shared a quick look with Selina before the two went racing down the tunnel. The dim lights overhead didn't do much to help him see if anyone was coming after them, but at least he had his gun.

His gaze fell to Barsad's crumpled form. He was genuinely surprised with himself. Only an idiot, or a man willing to do whatever necessary to survive, would expose their weakness for the chance to try and take a lucky shot. It was the only thing he could think of that would surprise a trained fighter. That didn't make the pain any less excruciating though.

The sound of heavy footsteps made John look back up to see Bane's hulking form come into view. He came to a halt a few yards away, hand sliding into the pockets of his overcoat. John held up his gun.

"You and I both know you won't shoot," Bane said. "I see you managed to take out Barsad. The man I once knew would never have been able to do so."

"I'm not him anymore. I don't know who I am to be honest, but no one else knows either," John said. "So are you here to kill me? Because if you want me to put up a fight, that isn't happening."

"I don't want to kill you, John. I plan on letting you escape," Bane said.

"Why?" John knew it was stupid to shout but he couldn't help it. "Because you still love Arthur? Because there is still some shred of Eames beneath the rest of you? Because guess what? Arthur's dead. He died awhile ago, so if he's the only thing stopping you from killing me and fully committing to Talia, then just put a god damn bullet in me!"

Bane stepped forward before kneeling in front of John. His eyes searched John's, and after a moment, he reached out to run a thumb over John's jaw.

"I see nothing of Arthur before me now. I am not helping you because some lost and damaged part of me longs for a man who no longer exists," Bane said. "I am helping you because the fire in your eyes is not tainted by the bitter hatred that reigns in Talia's heart. Your fire, your drive, it is a cause worth fighting for. But I cannot commit to it, not yet. Not fully. For how does a man who is slowly losing his identity commit to another who does not yet know himself?"

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I want to follow a person with a moral and just cause. Not a person who has let their hate consume them. Prove to me that you are what I need, and I will never leave your side," Bane said, his voice a rasping whisper behind the mask.

"Who says I even want your help?" John asked, jerking away from Bane's touch.

Bane sighed and stood up. "Condemn me if you wish. I still will not stop you from leaving these tunnels."

"You're asking me to take the help of a killer after _I_ prove my worth. Nothing about that offer can end well," John said. "and I would never want a loyal pet to obey my every word. You're worth more than you think you are. You are more than a tool, a weapon, to be shuffled around to the one with the worthiest cause. So prove yourself to me and then maybe we can work something out. Hopefully before this whole city goes to hell."

"We will prove ourselves to each other then." Bane turned his back on him and began to head back the way he came. "I will see you soon, Little Bird."


	16. Chapter 16

**Yay! I finished this chapter ahead of schedule, which theoretically means you'll be getting the next chapter a bit sooner than anticipated as well. I'm not sure how many more chapters there will be, though definitely no more than ten. I'm thinking 4-5 is more likely. I hope you enjoy the next chapter, thanks for the support, and I don't own the Dark Knight or Inception.**

Perhaps against his better judgment, John did not say a word about his encounter with Bane. They made it back to Gordon's without too much of a fuss. Injured people being helped through back alleys was becoming a more and more common sight as the weeks wore on after all. It helped, of course, that Ariadne didn't hesitate to carry her gun in plain sight. When they got back, Selina forced him to sit down and grabbed one of Gordon's kitchen knives.

"Whoa, what are you doing with that?" Ariadne asked, shoulders tensing.

"Calm down. We need to get this cast off and make a new one," Selina said. "Where are your pain meds?"

"Cabinet in the upstairs bathroom," John said. "Go, Ariadne. I'll be fine."

After a moment, Ariadne obeyed and barely a second after, Lucius emerged from the living room.

"Were you able to get what was needed?" he asked.

"Yeah, bag on the counter," Selina said. "Now stop talking, I don't want to cut John's arm open."  
"Are you really planning to cut this open with just a butcher knife?" John asked.

"There's barely any plaster and if I apply the pressure just right, it'll come apart fine. Now hold still," Selina ordered.

She slid the knife carefully through the holes Barsad's fingers had created. John held his breath as she began to cut. Every move of the knife made his arm ache as she twisted him this way and that to get the appropriate angles. John decided to concentrate on the noises of Lucius organizing the electronics in the other room to take his mind off it, though that only worked until Selina had his arm completely free of the cast.

"Please tell me you can recast this," John said between gritted teeth. His arm throbbed with his heartbeat and it felt limp and weak, like one wrong move would have it broken once more.

"Do I look like I just carry plaster around with me?" Selina asked, setting the knife aside. "Look, we'll just wrap it for now. I can sneak you into the hospital later to get it done right if you want, or I can get some supplies and recast it myself."

"You're going to wrap my broken arm?"

"It's not like we have a lot of options so stop complaining," Selina said.

"Here's the pills," Ariadne said as she came to the bottom of the stairs. She tossed them over to Selina. "Need anything else?"

"A wrap, yeah," Selina said.

"I have one in my bag," Ariadne said. She glanced over at John, a small, barely there smile on her lips. "And stop being stubborn. She's trying to help."

Selina grabbed a glass of water for him and passed it and the bottle of pills over. "I didn't think it'd be overly wise to drag you through the front door of the hospital by the way. They've tightened security so it might be better if I just get supplies. Until then, you have a bottle of pills to work your way through."

John stopped protesting and swallowed down three pills. "Thanks. For taking care of me and not slicing my arm open when you had the chance."

"A thank you from John Blake? I'm honored," Selina drawled.

"I can wrap his arm," Ariadne said when she reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Better for you to go get the supplies as soon as possible, right?"  
"Yeah. Try not to whine too much while I'm gone," Selina said.

She was out the door a beat later and Ariadne took her place. Even as gentle as she was, his arm still ached and throbbed as she began to wrap it.

"You should really start trusting her you know," Ariadne said as she worked.

"I can't," John said. "I didn't before and I still got tricked by her. Imagine what she could pull off if I did let my guard down."

"You're being stupid," Ariadne said. "You already _do_ trust her, otherwise she wouldn't be frequenting this place so much. Or you would have made us relocate. All this snapping at her is just you being mad at yourself for actually trusting her."

"I really don't need to be psychoanalyzed, Ari," John said.

Ariadne finished the wrap and lightly moved his arm to rest on the table. "I think you do. You've been through a lot. And so has Dom. But neither of you really slow down long enough to realize what went wrong and recover."

"Dom retired. And so did I, technically. I didn't go _looking_ to end up in a city that would go to complete hell," John said.

Ariadne sat down across from him. "You 'retired' to a high pressure job. Dom threw himself into his kids' lives so hard he turned raising them into a job as stressful as dreamwork. You two are addicted to the adrenaline but you need to come down eventually or you'll crash and burn."

"She's right you know." Both Ariadne and John turned to see Lucius hovering in the doorway.

"Do you make a habit of listening in on people's conversations?" John asked.

"You do not make it very difficult. It was not my intention," Lucius said. "But she is right. It happened to Mr. Wayne as you know."

John straightened. "I don't know Mr. Wayne."

Lucius smiled. "I am aware you know of Mr. Wayne's...shall we say, alternate identity. No need for us to pretend otherwise."

"So I take it you helped create the tools the Batman used," John said. "Not just the weapons Wayne Enterprises sold."

"That is correct. Now I'm sure you know what's happened to him more than I do, though I stand by what I said earlier. He will return, but that doesn't change the fact that he did get burned out," Lucius continued. "I assume that is proof enough that this sort of saving lives business, legal or not, will bring you to an early grave."

"I always thought I'd find my grave earlier than others," John said. "So that warning isn't very effective. But you really think he'll come back?"

Lucius' expression grew solemn. "I hope that he does though I have entertained the possibility that he will not."

"Does Bane have access to the Batman suit?" John asked. They weren't here to comfort each other after all, so no need to get distracted.

"No. What I did have in my possession was all moved to an alternate location when he took up the mask again," Lucius said. "And before you ask, no, I do not know that location. Only Mr. Wayne knows it."

"Great," John said. "So you having helped built all of that is basically useless. I was hoping for a little more."

"I'm doing what I can," Lucius said. "If I could do more, I would. Now, I suppose I will leave you to your delusions of the grandeur that you think vigilante work will bring you."

He left the room before John's anger could put itself in words. Gritting his teeth, John slammed his good hand down on the table.

"I gave up vigilante work. I don't have any delusions," John said. He wasn't quite sure who it was he was trying to convince; Ariadne, or himself.

"Doesn't really look like that from where I'm sitting," Ariadne said. "I was talking with Gordon earlier. He said you were impatient having to stay within the constraints of the law, and that this sort of thing is more comfortable for you."

"Of course it's more comfortable, but that doesn't mean I want to be the next Batman or something," John said.

"Are you sure?" Ariadne asked. "Because it looks to me like you're just fighting your nature, John. Fighting whoever it is you really are."

"Look at how useful the Batman is now. Vigilante work isn't going to save Gotham, whether it's in my 'nature' or not. Law and order will," John said. "So what do you want me to do, Ari?" His frustration bled into his voice, prompting a pitying look from Ariadne.

"Well for starters, I want you to stop lying to yourself and chose the path you really want, not the one everyone thinks you should chose. I really don't care which one you take. I'll support you to the ends of the Earth no matter what. But this constant flip-flopping is only going to get you killed faster. You have to know what you stand for," Ariadne said, grabbing his good hand in between both of hers. "Kind of like a real life totem, yeah? You need them to know who you are and survive."

"Is now really the time to try and find out who I am?" John asked. He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her palms, gaze falling to their clasped hands.

"Now is the perfect time," she said quietly, resting her forehead against his. "It's when we're at our weakest and have to give it our all that we find out what we're made of and just who we are."

"Speaking from experience?" he asked.

She gave a small laugh and a smile before pulling away. "Yeah. Had some rough jobs when you and Dom first disappeared after the Inception job. But I'm better for it. A lot better."

"I'm glad," he said. "Truly. We threw you in too fast."

"Better that way," she said. "I learned a lot after all. Inception on my first job, yeah? Gave me quite the reputation."

He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Anyone ever ask you to replicate it?"

"A few times yeah," Ariadne said.

"What'd you tell them?" John asked.

"I lied. Told them I couldn't," Ariadne said with a shrug.

John raised an eyebrow. "So did Dom...teach you while you were down in Limbo?"

"He did, yeah. I could, if I wanted to, but after seeing what it did to Mal...maybe that's what broke her, you know?" Ariadne glanced down and twined her fingers with John's as she bit her lip. "Because...maybe she was happy with Dom, the way Eames was happy with you. Maybe she was going to give up Talia to stay with him, I don't know. But what he did to her mind? That..." She shook her head and pulled her hands away. "Never mind."

John frowned. "Yeah...maybe you were right. That'd certainly make _me_ feel a lot better. To pretend that everything with Mal wasn't a lie."

"None of it was, John. It couldn't be. What you and Dom felt was real and I can't believe Eames was always like Bane. I never knew Mal, not really, so I can't say for sure about her," Ariadne said. "But you can't just pretend they're different people. It's not like you all have split personalities or something. Everyone changes, but that doesn't mean they're an entirely new person."

"I'll try and keep that in mind," John said quietly.

"You should. It might help."

-.-

Selina returned a little before Gordon and Dom did, so when they arrived she was just putting the finishing touches on his new haphazardly created cast. The old one was still a mess all over the table and floor, prompting raised eyebrows from both Dom and Gordon.

"I take it you had an eventful morning," Gordon said.

"That's one word for it," Selina said with a glance over her shoulder.

"Did you get in contact with Ross?" John asked.

"Yeah. We had enough time to get the whole thing planned actually," Dom said. He grabbed a chair and sat down across from John. "Gordon and I switched who delivered the messages every half hour. No way we were seen so we don't have to worry about anyone tracing the whole breakout back to us."

"Except they will," John said. "We aren't too good at hiding that we're against everything that's been happening."

"Someone's certainly optimistic," Lucius said as he walked into the kitchen.

"That our detector?" Gordon asked, gesturing to the contraption in Lucius' hands.

Lucius set it on the table. "Yes it is. You should be able to have the truck with the bomb tagged by the end of the day, if you have enough time." He pointed at a small red light on the top of the small machine. "That will light up when it detects something giving off enough radiation to be a bomb."

"The trucks are lined with lead. You sure it can still detect it?" Dom asked.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "I helped design it. Of course it can. Now, I'll start on the scrambler to interrupt the signal from the triggerman. After that, I plan to leave. Best if I get myself into hiding once more. Breaking all those cops out is going to attract a lot of attention and it's best if you don't have the man who can reattach the bomb to the reactor around."  
"Perhaps that is a wise idea," Gordon agreed. "You've done what you can for now, and that's more than enough."

Lucius gave a short nod, avoiding their gazes before heading back into the living room. After a moment, John glanced back up at Dom.

"So when are we breaking the force out?" he asked.

"We'll be going, son," Gordon said. "Me and some of the other men. This is a problem for the police. You're injured, and your friends can make themselves more useful doing something else."

"Injured or not, I'm still part of the force. I should be there," John said.

"Or you could actually relax and recover for once," Selina said, flicking his cast.

John flinched at the pain and glared at her. Selina merely stared back at him.

"If you can't even take that, you won't be able to fire a sniper rifle," Selina said.

"She's right," Dom said. "You should rest. You've been through a lot the last few days. We need you at your best, and right now, you're far from that."

John's jaw clenched tight but then with a sigh, he forced himself to relax. They were right. Completely right. He was next to useless for now, and maybe there was a part of him, a small part, that was thankful they weren't taking him along. He didn't want his actions to get anyone else killed.

-.-

The next morning, Dom ended up going with Gordon and others on the police force. The men they did have didn't have much experience with sniping, and Dom had brought along his own weapon when he had first snuck into Gotham. He was the best equipped out of all of them to help take care of the guards and any back up Bane's men sent.

That didn't mean it made John particularly happy. He didn't like sitting at home helping Lucius organize and build the signal blocker. He knew it was useful, but it didn't get rid of the feeling of helplessness.

"You don't have much experience with this sort of thing, do you?" Lucius asked, twisting a wire around a bit of plastic and then holding his hand out for John to pass him more tape.

"Well, I know how to build a PASIV from scratch and hack just about any database but can't say I've ever had to make something like this before," John said. "But I'm a quick learner."

"I gathered that. Dream workers tend to be," Lucius said.

John raised an eyebrow in surprise. "We aren't the first dream workers you've come across?"

"Far from it," Lucius said. "We all underwent training of the subconscious in case anyone attempted to steal company secrets. It's how I know the likelihood of you staying on the path of law and order is well...unlikely."

John shook his head despite the small chuckle the comment got out of him. "Can't hate me for trying though, can you?"

"I suppose not. I don't know if Bruce will be able to keep up with the vigilante work much longer," Lucius said. "Before you spoke to him, he wasn't too keen on returning back to the vigilante life. Then, for awhile, he was quite adamant about getting back in the game and never leaving again. After all the dust settles here though, I'm not sure if he'll return to it."

"If he even comes back to help," John said.

"I have to keep believing that he will," Lucius said. "It makes all this feel a little less futile. Now, how about I teach you just how to make one of these things? Might come in handy if you know how to do it on your own."

John glanced over at the other man, a little surprised. "Yeah. That'd be a good idea."

Lucius was surprisingly patient, spending the next hour or so showing John every step in the process and teaching him just how it would work. He was almost a bit disappointed he hadn't bothered to learn the trick earlier. It would've come in handy on jobs in the past, jobs where he hadn't been down in a dream where blocking a signal was as easy as thinking.

A little while after the task had been completed, the back door eased open. John got to his feet and glanced around the corner to see Gordon stepping inside with Ross just behind him. The other officer looked a little worse for wear, dirt and grime all over his ragged uniform. He was still managing a smile though when John met his eyes.

"So I take it everyone made it out okay?" John asked.

"Yeah. I'm here to help coordinate some things before I go find some place to lay low," Ross said. "I know the situation down there better than anyone else so he figured he'd pick my brain as much as possible."

"And where's Dom?" John's gaze flickered over to Gordon, who had glanced down at the ground rather than meet his eyes. "Gordon?"

"He got caught," Gordon said after a moment. "He shot one of the guards, and then he got dragged off the rooftop. I didn't see by who or where he ended up. It was just bad luck I guess."

"Bad luck?" John bit his lip to cut off the tirade that wanted to escape him. "There weren't supposed to be any patrols anywhere near there when you went."

"They must have recently changed them," Gordon said, shrugging hopelessly. "I don't have an answer for you John, I'm sorry."

There were a million other things waiting to be said on the tip of his tongue, and his gut clenched with fear and anxiety, but he beat it all down. Ross was back. They had more of the force back. Regardless of the loss, if John looked at it objectively, they were on the path to success.

-.-

Lucius left that night to find somewhere else to hide until they had the bomb in their possession, so Ross took his old room. Ariadne had left after John had gone up and told her that Dom had been captured, but she had left her things in the room she shared with him so he was sure she'd be back.

It all gave him too much time to lie in his bed and think though. Think about how every person he dragged into the whole mess ended up in worse shape than they started; dead or injured. If Bane's men had gotten their hands on Dom, he wasn't entirely sure they would bother taking him all the way to Talia before shooting him. And if they did bring him to Talia, John wasn't so sure Dom would be better off for it.

Though he supposed if anyone could get through her insanity it would be Dom.

With a frustrated sigh, he rolled out of bed and headed back down stairs, taking his flashlight with him so he wouldn't trip and fall. He grabbed one of the water bottles sitting on the counter. Running water had cut out a few days ago; just further proof of the deterioration of the city. No further messages had gone out to the government, and they had never received one back about potential help either, though whether they had been abandoned or were just unable to get a message through with electricity turning on less and less frequently was unknown.

As he straightened, there was a thud against the back door, and then a smaller knock. He clicked the flashlight off and set the water bottle back down as he approached the door. His gun was upstairs, so he grabbed one of the chairs with his good hand instead. He flung the door open, dropping the chair when Bane and Barsad stumbled through.

Barsad was a big man on his own, but compared to Bane, he was almost embarrassingly small. The masked man's weight was dead over Barsad's shoulders, and John moved to help him without hesitation.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, looping one of Bane's limp arms over his shoulder.

Barsad kicked the door shut and together they maneuvered Bane into one of the kitchen chairs. The larger man didn't move, and if it weren't for the occasional rasping breath, John would've thought he was dead. Footsteps pounding down the stairs prevented Barsad from giving him an immediate answer.

"John? Who are they?" Gordon asked from the shadows near the stairs.

"Just go turn on the generator. I think we have a bit of a problem," John said.

"We can't risk turning the lights on in here," Gordon hissed out.

John turned towards Barsad as best he could in the dark. "Can we get him upstairs?"

"Can we get him upstairs, he says, like it's an actual question," Barsad ground out. He shoved John aside and took Bane's weight upon himself. "It isn't like I dragged him out of the sewers on my own."

Gordon grabbed John's good arm as they passed each other. "Is that who I think it is?"

John tensed. "Yes. I don't know why they're here, I don't know how they knew we were here, and I swear if I did I would tell you, let's just go with it."

"Give me one reason we shouldn't just put a bullet in both their heads now!"

"Because you're a man of the law, Gordon. They'll be tried before the law, not by our hands," John said. "Now go turn the generator on and we can sort this out."

Once Gordon was headed for the basement, John hurried after Barsad and Bane. Barsad was waiting for him at the top of the stairs and John moved ahead to guide them towards his room. The growl of the generator vibrated up through the house so John flicked on the light and turned to get a good look at them both.

Barsad had a bloody bandage around both his right shoulder and a few haphazard bandages on his neck, but otherwise seemed okay. Bane on the other hand, looked like a dead man. His mask was gone, his face bruised and bloodied. Lashes and welts were raised all over the flesh of his bare arms, and John was sure that if he got rid of the chest plate he would only find more.

"What happened?" John asked, helping Barsad ease Bane's prone form onto John's bed.

"That is what I would like to know too," Gordon said from the doorway.

He had his glasses on, but he was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Barsad moved to stand between them and Bane, and as John's eyes flickered over him, he realized that the man's fatigues were splattered with blood and dirt, which only served to deepen his curiosity.

"Bane and I have been excommunicated by Talia," Barsad said after a moment. "She has done her best to break his mind with her mind work. I do not know the damage. I do not know if he will wake again. I brought him to the only place I could think of."

"You've known where we are this whole time?" Gordon asked.

"Bane and I have, yes. We've kept patrols away from this specific area as best we could, so to our knowledge, Talia does not know you are here," Barsad said. "With us gone, I do not know how much longer that will last."

"So what do you want from us?" John asked.

"We aren't doing anything for them," Gordon said.

"I just want to know what they're expecting," John said. "You can't possibly expect I'd let them just walk out of here. We'll keep them locked up."

"I'm glad I get a say in this," Barsad interjected.

"You're a criminal. You don't have rights here anymore," Gordon said.

"Just following orders," Barsad said. "We don't care what you do with us. I just couldn't let Talia hurt my brother anymore than she already has. The morphine withdrawal will be painful." He glanced back at Bane. "I would almost say putting him out of his misery would be a blessing but we're at your mercy."

"We'll put them in the basement," Gordon said after a moment. "Handcuff them both, and we'll bar the door."

"If I could make a request," Barsad said. "I don't have the strength to move Bane back down there. You may put me down there if you wish, I Just ask that you allow Bane to stay here and have someone watch him. I would hate to have him get this far only to choke on his own vomit."

"Reasonable enough. I'll take you down. John...can I trust you to stay with him?" Gordon asked.

"Yes. I told you Gordon, I'm not on his side," John said.

Gordon gave him a hard look, and then gestured for Barsad to follow him downstairs. John watched them go before searching the bathroom for a spare bucket for Bane in case he needed it. When he returned to the room, he hesitated in the doorway. Seeing Bane without his mask...it wasn't like he was looking at Eames. He saw nothing of Arthur's charming lover with a penchant for ugly floral shirts. He saw a killer, bruised and beaten, but a killer nonetheless.

He grabbed a chair and sat down beside the man and settled in for a long, sleepless night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Ermahgerd not much longer now guys. Hope you're excited. Enjoy the next chapter, I don't own Dark Knight/Inception, and reviews are always loved. **

John nodded off after a few hours, but he woke up to Bane retching into the bucket at his bedside. The room was still dark thanks to the lack of windows, so John stumbled to his feet and raced downstairs to turn the generator back on. By the time he got back upstairs, Bane had managed to turn on the lamp and was staring up at the ceiling.

"You okay?"

"My body feels as though it is on fire and my insides feel as though they are melting. What do you think?" Bane's voice was raspy and strained, but the sarcasm was heavy, and John couldn't help but give a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said after. "I just...I don't know what I'm doing. I should've shot you already."

"You're too concerned with following the law. I am not worried."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"And you would want to help me why?"

"You helped me. Besides, I can't have you dying before we can get you to a trial."

"How respectable."

John picked up the bucket and left the room, dumping it out in the toilet and flushing it away before cleaning it out and taking it back. He set it down at Bane's bedside.

"So what did she do to you? Talia, I mean," John asked, taking his seat once more. He had a feeling he already knew though. Luke had managed to tell him that much at least.

"She tried to figure out what I was hiding," Bane said. "Then tried to erase memories of you. My brother got me out before she could do much more."

"And you and Barsad are just...brothers in arms right?"

"Of course. I have no blood family to speak of," Bane said.

"So you managed to fight Talia off," John said.

"I have been expecting her betrayal for awhile now," Bane said, turning towards the opposite wall. "I was prepared to fight her off."

"How was she able to restrain you?" John asked.

"I let her. I will not harm my sister. She is still my world."

"You know, once upon a time, you said that to Arthur. Did you mean it?" John asked.

"It doesn't matter. Arthur is long gone now, is he not?" Bane shifted to look back at him, his gaze piercing without the mask acting as a buffer of his judging eyes.

"You know he is," John said.

"And yet none of us knows who remains behind to fill the husk. There is so much burning within you, Little Bird. It is a shame you won't let it out. You can't win a fight if you don't harness your own mind to use as a tool," Bane said.

"And you think lecturing me is going to help? If you want to help us, actually do something instead of telling me things I already know," John shot back.

"In case you have not noticed, I am unable to leave this bed, let alone fight," Bane said.

"Fat lot of good you are then," John said, getting to his feet and heading towards the door. He hesitated when his hand touched the handle. "You know, they caught Dom. Yesterday."

Bane was silent, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing. "Talia will tear him apart."

"We need to get him out," John said.

Bane's sigh was raspy and rattled. "You can't. If Talia has a hold of him, he'll be well guarded."

"Barsad got _you_ out." John turned to look at him, but the other man had already shifted over on his side once more.

"Barsad is second only to me in fighting. You don't even register as a threat to the worst of my men. I trained them," Bane said.

"Once upon a time, Eames trained Arthur."

"Life is not a fairytale, Robin. There is no secret to grant you quick success, and no mortal weakness of your enemies. There is only blood, and violence, and death. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. You are better off letting go of false hope and letting your need to survive, your fire, push you along."

"That's great, you read that off a fortune cookie?"

"Do not mock the only bit of advice that will help you survive."

"No. That's not what I'm mocking. It's just that you only see darkness, because that's what you were born to," John said, stepping further into the room. "The world is an awful, dark place full of people who do terrible things. We've both done them after all. But that doesn't mean everything is an uphill battle. We might not be trained by you or the League of Shadows, but we know and love this city and that's going to help us win because all Talia has is anger, and hatred, and a desperate need to survive. Desperation makes people do stupid things."

Bane turned to look at him. "Now you understand. It always was difficult to make you reason through people and their emotions."

John froze. "So you...tried to convince me of something I knew was wrong-"

"To make you realize what it was that you have that Talia does not. Yes."

John shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You have a really round about way of helping people."

"Better for you to reach the conclusion yourself. If you lose your mental strength, Talia will crush you," Bane said.

"You know our chances of survival will go up if you can give us more information," John said.

"Not now." Bane looked away. "I, unfortunately, feel as though I am about to fall asleep again."

An odd twist of guilt shot through John's chest and he began to back away. "I'm going to check up here every ten minutes though."

"If it will make you feel safer," Bane said, his voice quieter.

John left the room after shutting the light back off. When he headed downstairs, Gordon and Ross were at the table eating dry cereal. They had run out of milk a few days ago, and it'd be awhile before they could get their hands on any of the precious rations coming through the single bridge that was left standing. Thanks to the growing amount of snow, it wasn't hard to keep things cold, as long as you were able to keep it hidden.

"How's our mass murderer?" Ross asked.

"Sleeping," John said. "Did Ariadne show back up?"

"Not yet," Gordon said. "Ross and I are going to meet the rest of the force today. After yesterday, we think we can organize a few more hits to get the rest of the police out from the sewers."

"You'll need a sniper," John said. "And your last one is now in Talia's hands. You really want to take the chance of that happening again?"  
"We have to," Ross said, staring across the table into John's eyes. "Everyone down there is going crazy. Not to mention it's going to start getting colder. The last few days with the snow already made us cold, but in the next few weeks? It's only going to get worse."

John stared at him. "I know that. But the more attention you draw to yourself, the more desperate Talia is going to get. Now that's a good thing, until she gets so desperate she gets violent."

"So what? We just leave them down there?" Gordon asked. "That's not going to happen."

"No, I just mean you should put more space between the hits," John said. "A few days at least. She's just going to continue to put out more patrols, more frequently the more hassle you guys make for her."

"Then we play it safe. We don't have much time to spare," Gordon said. "With the bomb and everything."

"And if you rush into it, you'll make the same mistakes she would," John said. After a moment, he shook his head and got to his feet. "Listen to me or don't. You're the Commissioner."

He grabbed a water bottle and headed downstairs where they were keeping Barsad. Gordon had put him near the back, handcuffed to one of the wooden support poles, and he had his head back against it, eyes closed.

"I'll un-cuff you to drink some water," John said, crouching in front of him. "I'll go out later to see if I can get you something to eat."

"How generous," Barsad said, eyes opening.

John fished the key out of his pockets and reached back to undo the cuffs, gaze falling on the haphazard bandages. "You want me to take care of those?"

Barsad grabbed the water bottle once his hands were free. "I'd prefer if you could just give me the supplies. I am not a fan of having a potential enemy's hands on my throat."

"If I was going to kill you, it would have been awhile ago and you know it. Or when I was sitting next to your unconscious ass in the sewers," John said, leaning back to sit on the ground.

Barsad smiled around the water bottle before taking three deep swallows. He set it aside once it was half drained. "You took me by surprise. I am starting to see why my brother wants to help you instead of Talia. You have potential, and honor."

"What do a bunch of criminals care about honor?" John asked.

"Bane and I have never been just criminals. We were League of Shadows. Honor was just as important as being able to fight," Barsad said. "I have quenched my thirst. You may bind me once more."

"Sure you want that? Can't be comfortable," John said, even as he locked the man's wrists back together behind the pole.

"I've endured much worse," Barsad said with a bitter grin.

John stood back up, heading back towards the stairs. "One more question before I go."

"The worst I could do is not answer," Barsad said.

"Are you and Bane actually going to try and help us now?" John asked. "I mean give us actual information instead of eating some of our rations."

"That is not my decision to make. Those decisions reside with Bane," Barsad said.

"Great." John began to head up the stairs. "Shout if you need anything."

"Of course," Barsad said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

John fought to keep himself from laughing as he headed upstairs. Gordon and Ross were putting their dishes on the counter and they glanced over at him when they were done.

"We're heading out. Will you be able to handle yourself?" Gordon asked.

"Bane can't sit up and if Barsad can break out of the handcuffs, the three of us wouldn't be able to take him out anyways," John said. _And there's no way I'm using my cast as a decoy again._

"Valid point," Ross said, shrugging on his now clean jacket. "We'll see you around. And...it's nice to see you again, John."

"Yeah. You too."

John sat down at the table after Gordon and Ross headed back out. It was frustrating to see them lose all their faith in him when a few months ago they had finally started to respect his ability to help. There was no time to really sort out their personal issues though. They all had the same goal, so it wouldn't cause too much trouble, not really. Just an immense amount of frustration.

The door opened and Selina breezed in. John looked up, eyebrows raising.

"Do you actually check to make sure you aren't followed?" he asked.

"I'm a cat burglar. Of course I do," she said, taking a seat across from him. "So where's Ariadne?"

"She left last night after Dom got caught," John said. "I'm assuming she's still clearing her head."

Selina frowned. "Yeah, I ran into her last night and we talked. She said she was going back to talk to you."

"Jesus," John muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

"So she didn't come back?" Selina folded her arms across her chest. "Let's go look for then."

John tensed. "Why the hell would you want to help? Because it seems a bit suspicious to me that Ariadne just _happens_ to go missing after you talk to her, and now you want me to leave when I can't because-" He cut himself off, realizing he hadn't yet told her about their new guests.

"Because why?" Selina asked, getting to her feet. "And you know what? Regardless of what you seem to think, I've managed to become friends with Ariadne, and I actually care if she vanished in the middle of the night too."

John took a deep breath, then met her eyes. "Look. I'm worried but I _can't_ leave right now. Can you go look?"

"Well, someone should, and if it isn't going to be you then I guess it's me," Selina said, her gaze fiery. She turned on her heel and headed back towards the door. "But maybe you should get your priorities straight."

"Believe me, Ari would rather I stay here. She'd understand," John said.

"Then tell me so I can too," Selina said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"I can't. I'm sorry," John said. "Just...try and find her."

Selina slammed the door shut on her way out in response. John ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the worried and twisting feeling in his gut as he pushed himself out of his chair. He headed back upstairs only to be greeted by the sound of Bane retching into the bucket once more. He took care of it, and when he returned, Bane was shaking so hard John could see it from the doorway.

He set the bucket back down and pressed his hand to Bane's forehead. This close, he could see the needle marks along Bane's lips and wondered briefly how he had had never noticed them in the past.

"You're burning up," John said. "I'll get you something to bring that down."

There was still some Advil left, which after the morphine wouldn't do anything for the pain but would bring the raging fever down. He grabbed a cloth and soaked it in cold water, helping Bane take the pills before spreading it across his forehead.

"So much for sleeping, huh?" John asked.

"Little Bird." Bane's eyes were drifting close, even as he brought one large hand up to curl around John's.

"I've never dealt with morphine withdrawal before," John said. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Barsad knows." Bane's hand tightened briefly, then went slack as fevered sleep found him once more.

John waited a little while longer before pulling away and heading back to the main floor. He wasn't exactly in the mood to talk with worry for both Bane and now Ariadne plaguing his mind. He was tempted to think the day couldn't get any worse, but he knew it always could. So he took inventory of their food to occupy his mind, because at least that habit hadn't changed.

_"Do you always organize things when you're stressed, Darling?"_

_ "I have to do something. This whole case is driving me insane!"_

_ "So come to bed and let me distract you."_

_ "It's three in the afternoon."_

_ "Never stopped me before."_

The sudden memory made John's chest ache. It felt different now though. He didn't just miss Eames. He missed Arthur too, and the happiness they had found together. It was a fake happiness, sure, he knew that now, but at least at the time, it had been nice to let himself get swept away.

Eames and Arthur never would have lasted. Not when neither of them could really be honest with themselves or each other, and not when their whole identities were just lying masks. A bitter smile tugged at John's lips. They almost had a better chance of surviving together now than then, if he got passed the whole Bane almost destroying Gotham part.

The door slammed open and when he turned, Selina was there, expression angry and jaw clenched tight.

"Grab your gun and let's go," she ordered.

"I can't-"

"Oh my God, she's being put on trial by the stupid 'people's court' for consorting with the police, which is you by the way. You got her into this god damn mess so you can at least try and get her out," Selina ground out, kicking the table chair in frustration.

John clamped down tight on his fear and met Selina's eyes. "Alright. Lead the way."

-.-

The people's court reminded John a lot of the courts in the corrupt governments of some of the more undeveloped parts of the world; just, and in a weird way rational, but also barbaric.

He and Selina managed to sneak onto the balcony level of the old courthouse, giving them a bird's eye view of Crane's throne, the seats that held the public, and the line of prisoners waiting to step into the huge space between it all. Third in line was Ariadne, but for now, she was okay. There was no easy way to get her out that he could see, not with a public howling for blood and the court being run by one of Gotham's most notorious criminals.

"What do we do?" John asked.

"I don't know! I'm a burglar! That's why I got you," Selina hissed.

A gunshot rang out and the man who had been on trial seconds before was dropping to the ground. He was dragged away and the next prisoner was shoved forward, a women, no older than twenty.

"Miss Martha Thomas, you are convicted and found guilty of stealing from the poor and living a life of luxury off their backs," Crane said. "Death or exile?"

The woman stared up at him, and for a moment, John thought she was going to object to the unfairness of it all.

"Death."

The gunshot almost wasn't heard over the cheers from the people.

"This is stupid. She didn't make that money, and it's not her fault she was born into it," John said.

"We can have this debate once we save Ariadne. Can you make a distraction? I can take out her guards and get her out if you do," Selina said.

John pulled out his gun. "Yeah. I've got an idea. You might wanna head for her now though."

"I won't argue." She vanished across the balcony, heading for the stairwell.

John pulled his gun out. Normally, he didn't like killing, not in the real world, but the rage he felt towards the unfairness of it all was in charge. It was different than every time before though, more focused. Ariadne's life was on the line. Taking the life of a criminal so she could survive was more than worth it.

He aimed and fired twice, cutting Crane's speech off with a bullet in the head and the chest. The reaction he got wasn't ideal but he knew it would happen. Everything dissolved into chaos, people running from the room, but not before a few of Talia's men had spotted him and open fired. John crawled along the marble wall until he was at the stairwell. He reached the bottom just as Selina streamed passed, her hand around Ariadne's wrist. They locked eyes, and John moved to follow them along with the rest of the running crowd, but a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

He whirled, but the man caught the fist he threw easily, before slamming John up against the wall. "Honestly thought we'd let you get away?"

"I was hoping."

The man cranked his bad arm further back, and John bit down on a pained cry. "Watch your mouth. It's time for you to go on trial."

John was dragged away from the wall and shoved back through the crowd with a gun at his back. He comforted himself with the thought that at least Ariadne was safe.

-.-

They kept him in a bare, locked office in the basement of the courthouse. For a little while, John entrained the thought that his actions would land him back into Talia's hands. Eventually though, he shoved those thoughts away before he panicked.

An hour later, the door opened and one of the guards dragged him out. John kept his mouth shut. Sure, he was as good as dead but that didn't mean he had to anger the guard enough to earn himself a beating.

"You know Crane was our first choice in judge. A bit more rational than our other options," the man said. "With our new one, anything could happen."

John stepped into the courtroom and was instantly bombarded with shouted insults from the sidelines. There were less people than before, but that didn't matter. He looked up to the throne where Crane had once sat, stomach dropping to his toes.

The Joker sat with his feet propped on the table. He licked a thumb and began to wipe off a smudge on his shoes. John had been face to face with a lot of people, explored their minds; crazies, psychopaths, grieving mothers or fathers, and serial killers. They all had predictable minds after enough observation. He felt that the longer he looked at the Joker though, the more confusing he seemed.

The Joker popped off the shoe he had just shined and slammed it down like a gavel, gaining instant silence.

"Court is now in session. Never been a court jester before but I must say it's quite enjoyable," the Joker said, spinning the shoe around on its toe. "That was funny, feel free to laugh." He glanced around but was greeted only with silence. "This city is so dull without me around. Good to be back."

"Haven't got all day, Joker," John's guard called out.

"Right, right. Officer John Blake, you are convicted and found guilty of killing Crane. Personally I think you did us all a favor because he's so _painfully_ boring, but it's the people's court or whatever, sorry," the Joker said with an eye roll. He scratched at his chin, white face paint flaking off. "So uh, death or exile?"

"Exile," John said. Anything to buy himself a little more time. He knew how the exile choice played out ever since the river had begun to freeze, and the river was a full five-minute walk from the courthouse.

The crowd cheered and he was forced out of the courthouse. Waiting outside were more exiled prisoners, guarded by more of Talia's men. John kept his mouth shut, letting his mind race and try to work out an escape plan as they walked towards the river. It was futile to even bother, he knew that. There was no way he could possibly take out three of Bane's men, at least not before he got shot.

They reached the space under one of the ruined bridges. There were already holes in the ice from earlier victims, the water not yet having time to refreeze.

"Out on the ice, all of you," one guard said.

They all shuffled forward. John realized then that he was about to die beside men and women who he had never met, and there wasn't a thing he could do to save them, even after everything he had done in his life. All of his experience, and it all added up to nothing in the end.

There was a thud behind him, followed quickly by another. John spun around as a dark shadow dropped from above, taking out the last two guards that were standing. The figure straightened and turned to face him.

"You're alive," John said, chest so tight his voice came out as barely a whisper.

"All of you get out of here," Batman ordered.

The other prisoners scrambled to obey, minds still dazed and reeling from their near death and last minute save. John didn't budge.

"We thought you were dead," John said.

"I almost was."

"We never gave up fighting you know."

"You should start fighting with a mask," Batman said, holding a hand out to help tug him off the ice.

"Yeah?" The word came out as a nervous laughter. John was pretty sure he was going into shock.

"You won't get caught as often," Batman said.

"So what do we do now?" John asked.

"We save Gotham."

"Maybe you should change so you don't draw attention to yourself. It's a little flashy," John said.

"I'll manage. Where are you operating out of?" Batman asked.

"Gordon's house."

"I'll meet you there then." The vigilante began to head back towards the city. "A lot's changed since you've been gone. Just so you know," John called after him.

"Then enlighten me."


End file.
